


Holitude (Holiday of Solitude)

by radtoro



Category: JackSepticEye (YouTube RPF), Markiplier (YouTube RPF), Youtube RPF
Genre: AU, Alcohol Usage, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Baking, Christmas, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eventual Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Winter Break, but it's all good in the end, romcom, theyre a bit older
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 11:39:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 58,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8711221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radtoro/pseuds/radtoro
Summary: Over winter break, Mark and Jack are the only life forms left on the campus of the boarding school they teach at. Infatuation and cabin fever break down to an epic one-week love.





	1. But it's Christmas, Charlie Brown!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fairdeath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairdeath/gifts).



> I'm dedicating this story to @fairdeath, because of their fic You're Pretty Oblivious Sometimes, Mark ! This story is not based off theirs in any way, I just love that story to pieces, and live for their writing style. This wouldn't've happened without them and the inspiration I get from that story, so I am endlessly thankful and grateful for their existence!!

The holidays were never something set in stone for Mark. It was just when it got cold to him, it was when he visited his mother. This year wouldn’t be any different, he thought. It would still get cold, he would still stuff himself with fat-ridden foods. The only thing that would change would be where he was doing it.

Leaning back in his desk chair, Mark looked over his students. With a stretch and stifled yawn, he wondered what they would all be doing for the holiday break, knowing that they were all happy to be going home. He wondered what kind of gifts they’d receive, which they’d given, and hoped they were all happy (he tended to get sappy around Christmastime).

The bell rang with finality, a big period on the semester. Students sighed with relief and gathered their books. Mark wished them all a good break as they left, a few smiling and stopping to wish him the same.

Even still, they all left too quickly, and he sat in his desk chair, alone in his classroom.

 

 

Jack was coming to an animated finish of a lesson when the bell rang. He quickly finished his thought, then dismissed the class. As students left, they wished him a happy holiday, some merely waved, and a select couple that had become better acquainted with him stopped by his desk.

He still stood between the white board and his desk as his students said goodbyes. One of them gave him a small card, and another hugged him before she left. The last one to leave stayed and chatted for a minute, able to afford it, as this was their last class of the day.

“Ready for break?” Jack asked his student.

“You bet,” they said. “I’m almost gonna miss my dorm, though... Me and my dorm mate--”

“Ah-ah,” Jack said. “’My dorm mate and _I_ ’.”

They sighed. “ _My dorm mate and I_ \--Jesus Christ--have fairy lights everywhere. It’s so nice.”

“That sounds lovely,” Jack said. “What color?”

“Purple and white,” they answered. “Really, it’s so, so nice.”

Jack smiled at them, straightening a stack of paper on his desk. “Well, you’ll be back soon enough.”

The student groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

Jack laughed. “Well then you better get goin’,” he said. “The sooner you head home, the longer you’ll be away from school.”

They nodded and laughed, then left with a “Merry Christmas!” called over their shoulder.

Jack waved, then sat down in his desk chair. He glanced over the empty room with a sigh. This was going to be a lonely Christmas, he decided.

Although, he’d done this before. The whole holidays-alone thing. Back when he was in college, he spent every holiday by himself, from Easter to his birthday. He had plenty of movies and books and video games and plenty of snacks to steal from the lounge’s fridge. Hot Pockets would be his family this year.

 

 

Mark and Jack both lived on campus, in their own small dorms at the boarding school. The teacher’s hall was small, as not many teachers chose to live on-campus. The community kitchen on the bottom floor was awkward at times, and the living area was barely touched. The only thing that made living in the teachers’ hall bearable was that the rooms were bigger because of the lack of them.

Mark’s room included a bed, a desk, a shelf with many books atop it, and an en suite bathroom. Jack’s was almost identical, but with more books and a mini-fridge. Overall, the living situation wasn’t bad. Some of the teachers who lived in the hall joked it was like being in college all over again, except with their own bathroom.

When classes ended, Jack usually went for a walk around the campus, especially in these cooler months as they fell deeper into winter. It reminded him of his home, of the cold winters and Christmases of Ireland, of time spent with people he couldn’t be with this year. On rare nights, he’d find his way to the auditorium, and watch the students rehearse for whatever play was scheduled for the season. It was empty when he stepped into it that Friday, footsteps empty and echoing as he approached the stage. He looked into the orchestral pit, the abandoned seats and instrument stands resonating an emptiness he felt looming in the coming week.

At his desk in his dorm, Mark sat and watched his charging phone on the desk. This is where he stayed after class, grading papers or laying out his curriculum until he deemed himself hungry enough to slink down the stairs to microwave something mediocre.

But not tonight. He watched his phone, trying to summon a noise from it, a buzz or tone, anything. _Anything_. The fact had dawned on him that come Monday, he’d be alone on the boarding school’s campus. He begged his phone to ring, prayed to heaven that his mother would call or his brother would text.

With a sigh, he looked away from it and went to the bed. He’d sleep past dinner, he decided as he closed his eyes. It didn’t matter that he was still in his shirt and pants from the day, all that mattered was that he was alone and tired, and that that was all he’d be feeling in the coming days.

 

 

When Mark woke, he checked his phone for messages and the time. His notifications were empty and the time read 2:23. He groaned and his stomach grumbled in agreement. Rubbing his face, he immediately regretted not eating, and that he’d slept with his mouth wide open. He made his way to the kitchen, eyes half-lidded and shirt half-buttoned.

As Mark stepped onto the bottom floor, he heard noises from the kitchen. Clinking of glass and the over-exerted hum of the refrigerator. Instantly awake and on high-alert, Mark creeped around the corner to catch a glimpse of what/who was in the kitchen. _No other teachers should be here_ , he thought to himself, _unless there’s a leftover student ransacking the teachers’ kitchen._

Mark peeked in the doorway to find a man grumbling into the refrigerator, ass high in the air as he pushed bottles around. The dark t-shirt the man wore was a stark contrast to the bright green and red striped boxer-briefs he wore, and his pale legs led down to slippers that were more duct tape than anything else.

Deciding by process of elimination that it was a robber, Mark looked around for a weapon to use against him. With another step into the kitchen, he tilted his head at the figure. Logic a lost concept to his tired mind, Mark thought to himself that it was odd for someone to rob a boarding school dressed like that.

As he stood in the doorway, looking for an object to swing at the guy, Mark’s stomach roared mightily. He cringed and held it as if it would stop the noise.

The man crouched in the fridge stood up immediately, knocking his head on one of the shelves on the way up. He turned around and yelped at Mark’s shadow in the doorway, so loud it made Mark jump back.

“What the fuck?” the man asked, breathing heavily. “Are you a robber?” He quickly reached behind him and pulled out the first thing his hand found: a full jug of orange juice. “If you come one step closer, motherfucker...”

“No, no,” Mark finally managed. “No, I’m-I’m a teacher here. I live here. I thought _you_ were a robber.”

“Oh,” the guy said, the jug dropping to its weight at his side. “Sorry... wait,” he squinted in the dark of the room, “Fischbach? Is that you?”

“Um, yes?” he said. “And you are?”

“Um,” he reached around the fridge and flicked on the light, “Sean Mcloughlin? I teach English here. Most people call me Jack.”

Mark hummed in acknowledgement. “Of course. My apologies.”

Jack chuckled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry about all the yellin’ a minute ago. Didn’t think anyone else was still here.”

Mark laughed. “Yeah, me neither.” He shrugged in his shirt, taking in Jack’s full appearance. His eyes landed on the jug in his hand. “Were you really gonna attack me with...” Mark laughed, shaking his head. “...A jug of orange juice?”

Jack looked down at the jug, grinning. “Yeah, I mean,” he said. “Blunt force object, y’know?” He swung lightly as an example.

Mark laughed. “Makes sense,” he said. “Would’ve worked better than my Grade-A sneaking, definitely.” They laughed, and Mark took a step closer, holding his hand out. “You can call me Mark, by the way.”

“Alright, Mark,” Jack said, taking Mark’s hand and giving it a shake. He tossed the juice back into the fridge before closing it. “You teach biology, right? That must be fun.”

Mark shrugged. “Can be at times,” he said. “And I know you’re a favorite among the students.”

Jack shrugged. “What can I say?” Jack lifted himself onto the counter and sat, dangling his legs. “I encourage creative writing, and they appreciate that. The other teachers don’t, though.” He chuckled. “So, if any of your students have been using ‘pulchritudinous’ in any of their assignments, blame’s on me.”

“Ah,” Mark said, leaning on the counter. “ _You’re_ why the reports are more fun to read.”

Jack laughed. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

Mark smiled. “You should,” he said. “And what the hell is a ‘poultry-what-now’?”

Jack laughed, then sounded out the word. “ _Puhl-kri-tood-in-us_. It’s an adjective, means beautiful.” He leant back, smug. “I love when people don’t know that word.”

“Hey,” Mark laughed. “I bet you don’t know what cytoplasm is.”

“Isn’t that the stuff that the Ghostbusters deal with?” Jack smiled cheekily.

Mark rolled his eyes. “That’s _ecto_ plasm, asshat.”

Jack laughed. “Well, I see I’m not the only one with a colorful vocabulary.”

They laughed and Mark’s stomach joined the conversation. Jack’s smiled dropped.

“Oh, shit, that’s right,” he said. “You’re hungry.”

“Yeah...” Mark chuckled shyly. “I’ll just grab a snack and be out of your way.”

“Well, I’m hungry, too. I can cook for us.” Jack glanced at the fridge then shrugged at Mark. “How does ice cubes sautéed in expired ketchup sound to you?”

Mark laughed, wince apparent in his expression. “Sounds like I’m eating a box of power bars tonight.”

Jack laughed and hopped down from the counter. “Not happenin’,” he said. He opened the freezer and pulled something out after a quick glance in it. “How does pizza rolls and” he pulled out a box “Pillsbury pre-made sugar cookies sound?”

Mark laughed. “Aren’t those other teachers’?”

Jack shrugged. “They’re gone,” he said. “They shouldn’t’ve left them here to expire. Really, in a way, we’re saving them money.”

“By eating all their food,” Mark said, laughing. “Your logic seems flawed.”

“It’d go to waste otherwise,” he said. “It’s a charitable act: they’re feeding the hungry.”

Mark nearly doubled over laughing and Jack allowed himself a proud smile as he slipped the pizza rolls into the microwave. He knelt and dug for a cookie tray in the bottom cabinets.

“May I also say,” Mark started, “that your outfit is quite the showstopper.”

“Oh.” Jack looked down at his clothes. He muttered curses and pulled his shirt down as he stood. “I totally fuckin’ forgot. Sorry.”

“No need,” Mark said. “I just have one question.”

Jack kept his head down, shirt not long enough to cover his boxer-briefs, no matter how hard he tried.

“Why not toss the slippers?” he asked. “I mean, it seems pointless at that rate of duct tape.”

Jack laughed, somewhat relieved. He shrugged. “I dunno. Too lazy to go out and buy new ones?” He held a leg out in front of him, shaking his foot.

Mark laughed and the microwave beeped. He approached the box of frozen cookies as Jack took out the pizza pockets.

“Nice, snowman kind,” he said, then opened the box.

Jack slid the paper plate filled with pizza rolls towards Mark. “Have as many as you want,” he said, one already in hand.

Mark scoffed at the plate, overflowing with mini pockets. “Did you put the whole package in there?”

Jack shrugged. “Yeah.”

Mark sighed and took one, deciding not to argue.

As Jack boosted himself back up to sit on the counter, Mark found a cookie sheet and lay out the cookies. Making cookies this way felt cheap and empty, completely devoid of the Christmas spirit it advertised on the box.

Mark set the small oven to preheat and placed the filled cookie tray on top. He sighed as he remembered baking homemade cookies with his mother, how she’d always give him the spoons and bowls to lick when they were done. He thought of when him and his brother were younger, how they’d fight over who got the bowl and who got the spoon, then fight over who got the first cookie when they were done.

“So,” Jack started, “are ya leaving in the morning?” He finished off a pizza roll and brushed his hands together.

Mark shook his head somberly. “I’m staying here for winter break.” He grabbed another pizza roll. “And you?”

“Same here,” Jack said. “Why’re you stayin’? Don’t’cha have a wife or somethin’ to get home to?”

Mark hummed a laugh. “No, no, no wife, no something,” he said. “Just... I have a new semester to plan... I thought it might be better to just, y’know... stay at work.”

“Mhmm,” Jack said, stroking his chin. “Load of shit, but, okay.”

“What?” Mark laughed incredulously. He offered Jack the last pizza roll, then took the plate when he declined. “Fine then, what’re you staying for?”

Jack shrugged. “Well, all my family’s still in Ireland,” he said. “I sent them all presents in the post, and by the end of it, I didn’t have enough for all the tickets to get home and back. But I was really, really close, so I decided to donate the rest. And, of course, the next week, I came across money that would’ve gotten me home, but” he shrugged “Christmas spirit and all that shit. I’m fine here.”

Mark chuckled. “That’s great,” he said. He put the cookies in the oven at the beep that let him know it was preheated. “Not great that you couldn’t make it home for Christmas, great about the donation thing. So few people actually do that, especially the amount I imagine it was.”

Jack nodded, eyes widening for a second. “Yeah. It felt good, but I definitely felt the hit to my pocketbook.”

Mark nodded. “I can imagine.”

Jack fiddled with the hem of his shirt as he asked, “So are you gonna tell me the truth about why you’re here? Or is that not a first-date question?”

Mark laughed once. “Date?”

“Joking, joking,” Jack said, cheeky smile still present. He looked at Mark through his eyelashes. “...So?”

Mark sighed. “Yeah, okay.” He sat on the counter next to Jack, keeping it at a safe distance. “My mom’s on vacation for the holidays, Florida I think? And my brother decided to spend Christmas with his wife and her family. I decided to stay here, get a little bit of work done. Being alone never bothered me.”

“But it’s Christmas, Charlie Brown!” Jack said. “You can’t be alone for Christmas!”

Mark laughed. “Well, thanks to you, I won’t be.”

Jack smiled. “Ditto.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the idea for Mark finding Jack rummaging for snack at 2 AM from @you-make-me-wander on tumblr!


	2. Christmas Spice it Up

On Monday, the last of the students and staff left. Even on the large campus Mark and Jack could tell they were completely alone. It was almost apocalyptic, Jack thought to himself as he wandered the halls of the school, back to his classroom for paperwork. He said so to Mark when he returned to the teachers’ hall.

Mark looked up from his laptop, over his glasses, at Jack. “I wouldn’t expect any less.” He went back to typing haphazardly, loudly, wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose as if he was too invested in his work to bother pushing them up.

“It’s so depressing, though,” Jack said, falling dramatically onto the other end of the couch Mark was seated on. “I mean, the only place they decorated--or even allowed us to decorate--was the administrative office. And they don’t even have a tree!”

Mark finally looked at Jack, taking off his glasses sharply. “Is my laptop invisible? Does my silence welcome you? Do my reading glasses have ‘please, Jack, distract me from my work’ splayed across the lenses?”

Jack sunk into the couch, eyebrows raised in surprise. Mark hadn’t said any of it harshly, but he was very clearly annoyed. “No,” Jack said, taking Mark glasses from his hand. “What this” he gestured to Mark in one swoop “says to me” he placed the glasses on his own face “is that you need to stop takin’ your job so fuckin’ seriously. You’re on break, for fuck’s sake, and I’m not letting you do _this_.” He gestured to the laptop whirring in his lap.

“Technically,” Mark said, taking his glasses back, “I’m still at work.” He rubbed smudges off the lenses with the end of his shirt.

“No,” Jack said. He pointed to the direction of the school building. “ _Technically_ , over there is work. Here is home.” He pointed down. “And do you know what we do at home?”

Mark sighed, knowing it’d be fruitless to argue any further. He hit the save button on his project before he placed his laptop on the coffee table. “What do we do?”

A smile grew on Jack’s face. “We decorate.”

Mark rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself.

“See?” Jack said. “You’re into it. You wanna Christmas Spice it up.”

Mark laughed, shaking his head at his lap. “I did think their decorating was a little underwhelming.”

“There ya go!” Jack jumped up from the couch. “Let’s do something, then!”

Mark’s gaze followed him. “But we don’t have anything to put up. And don’t say anything about stealing from the administrative office.”

Jack let out the breath he took. “I was gonna say _borrow_... Eh!” He waved the thought away. “Their decorations are shit anyways.”

Mark laughed at him, shaking his head. “What now, then, Hermey?” He stood with a grunt.

Jack shrugged, grinning at the reference. “Time to get creative, Rudolph.”

Mark prepared a rebuttal, but couldn’t say it. His mind filled with ideas for homemade ornaments, taking place of any doubts. An eyebrow raised slightly in thought.

“Oh, I like that face,” Jack said. “That face means you’re on board.”

Mark merely smiled and said, “Do we have popsicles?”

 

 

While they ate near-expiration popsicles, Mark rambled about all the different types of decorations and ornaments he’d made as a child. Popsicle sticks glued together and painted to look like stars and snowflakes, printer paper rolled and folded to look like angels. He went on about popcorn and Froot Loop chains he and his brother used to make (and ate not even an hour later), and paper snowflakes that he was sure his mother still had.

With a final sigh of having finished the popsicles, Mark lamented over the fact that they hadn’t any Christmas lights. Jack silently recalled something a student had told him about fairy lights in their room. He withheld a smile and told Mark he’d fetch the string and popcorn for him while he stayed and worked with the popsicle sticks and paper.

Jack bundled up and headed out, straight to the administrative office to find the room number of his student and the skeleton key. As he entered the room, he promised it that’d he’d return the lights as soon as the break was over. He took them down with minimal struggle, and although they weren’t exactly Christmas colors, they were lights on a string, and they were sure to make Mark smile.

After looping the lights over his shoulder, Jack made his way to the Home Ec. Room to borrow some thread and needles. He then headed to the cafeteria kitchen to do the same with popcorn. He grabbed a couple pre-sealed bowls of Froot Loops from the breakfast bar on his way out.

As Jack approached the teachers’ hall, he could hear music pouring out. No, Jack realized as he came closer, just a voice. Jack opened the door slowly, wondering what crooner Mark was listening to, because he couldn’t place the voice. Admittedly, he didn’t listen to a lot of that genre of music--he barely even listened to Christmas music. He recognized the tune as It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas, and Jack smiled at Mark’s appropriate choice.

When Jack stepped into the living area, he began to think the song might be an understatement. Paper and popsicle snowflakes littered the walls while paper angels were scattered on the coffee table and in the floor around Mark, waiting to be taped up. Jack took a breath to make a sarcastic remark, but let it out with a smile when he realized it was Mark who was singing the carol.

Instead of interrupting or teasing him, Jack snuck over to a power outlet and plugged in the lights. Where they were wrapped around his shoulder instantly lit up, and he unwrapped them as quietly and slowly as he could. As he did, he sang along with Mark, the best he could without knowing all the words.

Mark jumped at the sound of Jack’s voice, stopping singing mid-note.

“Hey...,” Jack said. “Why’d ya stop?"

“I didn’t hear you...” Mark’s eyes finally landed on the fairy lights wrapped around Jack. His jaw dropped and his eyes lit up as bright as the LED bulbs. “Where...” He shook his head, blinking. “Where did you get those?”

Jack shrugged. “Borrowed them from a friend,” he said. “Where do you wanna--” He tried pulling them off himself with a struggle. “Ah, fuck, hold on.”

“Here, let me help you,” Mark said, stepping closer to untangle Jack.

Jack laughed, attempting to protest, but Mark was already pulling at the lights.

“Stop struggling,” Mark laughed. “You’re making it worse.”

Jack let his arms drop to his sides. “Fine, fine.” He stood still and allowed Mark to tug at the lights wrapped around him.

“How’d this happen?” Mark asked, voice low. He slipped his hands under the wires, palms flat on Jack’s chest.

Jack’s breath hitched and he avoided eye contact. “Just...,” he said. “Got carried away, I guess.”

Mark nodded as he pulled the last string over Jack’s head. “I understand.” Their eyes met as the lights dropped, something warmer than Christmas spirit filling the air between them.

Jack stepped away after a second, laughing awkwardly. “So, um, yeah,” he said, “where d’ya wanna put these?”

Mark glanced around the room, seemingly unaffected by the moment they just had. “Around the windows maybe?” he said. “We can each have one in our rooms? You brought quite a few.”

“Yeah,” Jack laughed. He continued rubbing his neck, trying not to cringe too hard. “Yeah, I’ll, uh, help you with that. With puttin’ ‘em up.”

Mark smiled gently at him. “Thanks,” he said, “but I think I can get it.”

“Are you sure?” Jack asked, only to be met with a nod from Mark. “Well, what about to popcorn strings? I got the stuff for that, too.”

“That’ll be great, actually,” Mark said. “You start popping the popcorn, and I’ll start untangling these lights.”

Jack laughed. “Sure, great, of course.”

Mark nodded at him and went back to humming quietly. Jack scurried into the kitchen.

“We did not just fuckin’ have a _moment_ ,” he whispered to himself. “We did _not_.”

Breathing heavy, he made his way to the stove, where he had left the container of popcorn. He muttered curses into a pot as he began to heat the oil. He hadn’t felt this way since high school! Not even then had he been this... _blushy_ around someone. Considering every factor, he tried to logic it out. From the romantic purple glow of the lights that reflected in Mark’s glasses to the warmth he radiated, the sense of home, belonging that emanated from Mark. It could’ve been that he was singing, or the way getting untangled from the lights made him touch Jack... _Mark, Mark, Mark._ That’s all it was. That’s all that was in Jack’s head.

 

 

Once the popcorn was done and ready to be strung (and he had managed to clear his head a bit), Jack went into the living area to tell Mark. He found him precariously balanced on an old, rusty ladder, hanging lights around the window frame.

“Mark, what the hell?” Jack said, rushing to the window. “Are you sure you wanna be usin’ that ladder for that? It’s eighty percent rust!”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Mark said. “Stop worryin’ about be.” He smiled down at Jack, only for the ladder to creak and Mark to lose his balance for a second from leaning too far before quickly regaining it.

Jack gripped his hair and cringed. “Fuck, Mark, the medics aren’t on campus and the nearest hospital is an hour away! Please, _please_ get down. For the fuckin’ sake of baby Jesus, I will take you down myself.”

“Relax, relax,” Mark laughed. He fiddled one last time with the lights then stepped down. “See?” He held his arms out when he was on the ground, smiling smugly. “Unscathed.”

Jack rolled his eyes and shoved his arm lightly. “Barely. The popcorn’s ready.”

“Great!” Mark said as they walked to the kitchen.

“Where’d you even get that pile of rust anyways?” Jack asked, falling step with him.

Mark chuckled. “The gardening club. While you were out, I went over and borrowed it real quick.” He shrugged. “They left it outside for the entire off-season, so it’s not a surprise it’s as rusty as it is. It’s a bigger surprise it’s not worse.”

Jack shook his head. “They have a fucking _gardening club_ and they won’t even hear me out about gettin’ together a fundraiser for a music program.” He shook his head, _tsk_ ing.

Mark gave him a long glance. “You sound passionate about that.”

Jack shrugged. “I just think it’s ridiculous that they have every art except for the most important one.”

“Music,” Mark said.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Ah, it sounds stupid now, but--”

“No, no, I gotcha,” Mark said. “Do you play any instruments?”

“I used to play the drums,” Jack said. “I haven’t played since college, but... music is still important to me, y’know? Like, movies wouldn’t work without scores. You wouldn’t know it was the holiday season until you heard All I Want For Christmas every five minutes.”

Mark laughed. “I know what you mean.” He leant on the counter next to the needles and thread and pot of popcorn. He spotted the Froot Loops and smiled. He picked them up. “You didn’t have to...”

Jack grinned. “I did, though,” he said. “I wanted to.”

“Thank you.” Mark put the plastic bowl back down. “Have you ever made popcorn garland before?” He nudged his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

“Uh, no,” Jack chuckled.

“Don’t worry,” Mark said picking up the supplies. “I’ll show you.”

They set up in the living room floor. Mark showed Jack how to string the popcorn and how the ratio of Froot Loops to popcorn worked. When Jack seemed to get the hang of it, Mark pulled out his phone and played Christmas carols from the inside of a red Solo cup. They made idle chatter and banter, laughing about and sharing stories from their youth. When they went silent for a while, Jack leant back on the couch behind him and sighed.

Mark looked up at him with just his eyes, over the rim of his glasses (an act that drove Jack absolutely mad). “You alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Jack sighed. “Just...” He exhaled. “This party could use some alcohol.”

Mark laughed. “I know this is slow-going, but I promise it’s worth it.” He continued with steady hands to thread a red Froot Loop onto his string.

Jack laughed sleepily, then stood with a grunt.

“Where you goin’?” Mark asked.

“To get some alcohol,” Jack said, making his way to the stairs.

Mark scoffed. “You’re not actually gonna drive to town to get a drink, are you?” he called after him. One of the rules for teachers living on campus was that they couldn’t store any alcoholic drinks in their quarters, just in case any students saw or found them. The nearest town was at least a twenty-five minute drive, and it was even further to find any kind of life besides crusty supermarkets and old neighborhoods.

“I’m not,” Jack said, grinning before he disappeared up the stairs.

Mark furrowed his eyebrows at his leave, but went back to his threading, humming along to the song that had come on.

Jack came back down a minute later with a half-drank bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

Mark laughed at it. “Jack for Jack,” he said. “You do that for the aesthetic?”

Jack laughed. “Maybe.” He stood in the doorway and held up the bottle slightly. “You want any? I can go get a couple glasses.”

Mark shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

“Alright then,” Jack said, then trotted into the kitchen grab two glasses. He returned to their spot in the floor, twisting the cap off. He filled the glasses about a quarter of the way, then handed Mark one. “To, um...,” he said. “To our Holiday of Solitude. Our Holitude.”

Mark laughed as they clinked glasses. “To our Holitude.”

Jack took a sip easily, then placed his glass down in exchange for his popcorn garland.

Mark warily took a sip, cringing as it went down. It _buurrrrnned_. He made a scratchy noise and coughed.

Jack laughed. “You okay there, man?”

“Yeah,” Mark said. “Just haven’t had anything stronger than lemonade for a while; I don’t drink a lot. Sorry.”

“No, I understand,” Jack said. “Normally I don’t, either, but I keep this around, y’know, to take the edge off sometimes.”

Mark nodded. “Yup, this’ll take the edge off for sure.”

Laughing, Jack continued threading. Mark watched him, how he struggled to hook on each piece. Mark’s strand was probably too long as it was--they’d have to pop more corn soon at this rate--but Jack’s was short anyways, the popcorn-to-Froot-Loop ratio way off. Mark smiled endearingly.

 _He’s so cute_ crossed the back of Mark’s mind, but it startled him, making it jolt to the front. _Cute?_ Since when was Jack cute? _Since always_ , that same voice replied. Mark shook his head at his hands. The alcohol must’ve gone straight to his head or something; these thoughts weren’t logical at all.

But _of course_ it wasn’t logical. Cute wasn’t logical. _Love wasn’t logical_. Fucking Christmas for two strangers in an empty boarding school wasn’t logical.

But here they were.

And where the hell had _love_ come from?

“Hey, Mark,” Jack said, breaking the silence.

“Hm?” Mark looked up from his lap, at first happy to be pulled away from his thoughts before realizing his savior was also his demise.

“What do you want for Christmas?” Jack asked.

Mark looked back down at his popcorn, then tied it off. “I don’t know. Snow? For my family to be happy and well?”

“Lame,” Jack answered immediately.

Mark threw his head back and laughed. “ _’Lame’_?”

Jack nodded. “You’re playin’ it too safe,” he said. “You’re afraid to _share_. C’mon, Mark, what’s all that you want for Christmas? Be romantic.”

Mark shook his head, kicking the most obvious and cheesiest of answers out of his head. “That’s really it. I’m afraid I’m just that boring.” He tried another sip of his drink.

Jack scoffed, then scoffed again. “Not. True.” He took a sip from his glass.

“What about you, then?” Mark asked. “What do you want to see under the tree?”

“God, I don’t fuckin’ know,” he said, making Mark stifle a laugh. “A fuckin’ unicorn.”

Mark laughed. “Perfect,” He said flatly. “What a personal and in-depth answer. I really feel like I know you.”

Jack scoffed and nudged Mark’s leg with his sock-clad foot. “Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mark perched on a rusty ladder trying to hang up lights was inspired by a post by @berrybird on tumblr!
> 
> Also, this is an AU where Mark can drink!


	3. The Call

Mark helped Jack to bed that night (after another glass and the rest of Mark’s), and they put their popcorn strands up the next day after Jack was over his mild hangover. They had lunch, then helped each other put up the spare fairy lights in their separate rooms. Mark spent his time until dinner texting his friends and attempting to work. But still, the thought of Jack hung over him, not unlike a cloud and not unlike a new sweater he didn’t quite know how to wear yet. The word _crush_ crossed his mind and he refused it.

Jack called his sister, then watched Netflix until he decided to make dinner. When he got downstairs, it dawned upon him that they had nothing to cook. With a hefty sigh, he knew he’d have to brave the pre-Christmas crowds if he wanted a good dinner. He climbed the stairs to let Mark know he was leaving, and with the realization they didn’t have the other’s phone number, they exchanged them “Just in case,” Mark had said.

Jack left the grounds and stood outside the gate while he waited for his cab. He double-checked his pockets to make sure he had his wallet and phone, then pulled out the latter. With his fingerless gloves, he swiped it open. Still opened in his contacts, he flipped through to the M’s and landed on Markimoo. Jack chuckled at his own nickname for him, how it contrasted so much to the only message in their texts.

** Sent from Markimoo at 5:13 PM: **

_Test_

Jack smiled at his phone as the cab pulled up. He hopped in and spent the whole ride to the supermarket composing a text asking if Mark needed anything at the store. He felt like such a schoolgirl worrying about a simple text, but he was unable to help himself. He forced himself to send it as the cab pulled into the market parking lot. Whatever he’d come up with would have to do.

When Jack was home with his groceries (and Mark’s ingredients for cookies he promised to pay him back for), he made dinner. While he cooked, Mark baked, humming Christmas carols. Jack joined in, and soon enough, the kitchen was filled with their voices as they stumbled through every carol they could remember (or at least as much as they could recall of them).

While the cookies were in the oven, they ate. They sat at the table, chatting about films and music. They talked about video games for the longest time, until the cookie timer went off and beyond then.

They had a bit more from the bottle of Jack, just because they had nothing better to do. They moved to the couch with their drinks and cookies, and Mark played carols from the Solo cup again. Mark rambled stories about baked goods as he got tipsier, and Jack laughed louder as the drink warmed his fingers and the sweets filled his belly.

When Jack fell asleep on the couch, almost empty glass still in his hand, Mark couldn’t do anything but smile at him. He didn’t mind that Jack had fallen asleep in the middle of a story. He couldn’t bring himself to think of much other than how soft and peaceful he looked sitting there, leant deep into the cushions of the old couch.

He carefully removed the glass from Jack’s hands and placed it next to his own on the coffee table. He picked his phone out of the cup and turned off the music. Leaving only the kitchen light on to leak across the hall and into the living room, Mark left up the stairs.

With minimal stumbling and swearing, Mark made it back to his room. He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The smooth white paint made him think of nothing but Jack’s skin and the purple glow of the fairy lights resembled the blush the whiskey had left on his cheeks. Mark knew he was falling headfirst into whatever was happening, whether he liked it or not. And he didn’t. Or maybe he did? Mark had no idea.

He looked at his phone, still grasped tightly in his hand. Calling for help would be the best option, he decided as he unlocked it. It took a couple tries, but when he was in, he went to his contacts.

Scrolling through the alphabetical list, he considered his options.

At the top of his contacts was his good friend Arin. Mark hovered his thumb over the name, then scrolled past. He knew Arin would say something like, “Fuck him and forget him, man, that’s how you get over him.”

 _But I don’t wanna get over him_ , Mark thought. _Well... maybe in the literal sense...  
_

Mark paused at his pal Bob’s contact before shaking his head. Bob would blow over it, tell him to just ask him out or avoid him completely, or better yet, he’d make fun of Mark for getting himself into this in the first place.

Mark sighed and kept scrolling, weeding through all the work contacts. Too many Matts, too many Mr.’s and Ms.’s.

He scrolled past his Mom after seriously considering calling her. It was too late, he eventually decided. He’d be calling her in a couple of days anyway, on Christmas; he wouldn’t want to worry her on her vacation.

Then he got to the Toms, and he knew his brother was in there somewhere, but he didn’t trust himself enough to make the right call.

As he reached the end of his contacts, he felt hopelessness swell in the bottom of his chest. He might need new friends, he thought to himself, if he didn’t trust anyone in his contacts enough with a simple issue like this.

But then there was Wade. All the way at the bottom, a shining diamond at the pit of a dark, empty cave. He didn’t hesitate to open the contact and call him.

Mark counted the rings as they droned out.

 _Oonnnnee... Twwoooooo... Thrreeee... Fffffff.._.

Mark jumped when Wade finally picked up.

“Um, hey?” Wade said, voice heavy with sleep and distorted from the distance.

“Oh!” Mark said. “Great, Wade, hey, I didn’t think you were gonna pick up there for a second.”

“Yeah, ‘cause why wouldn’t I at” he paused to check a clock “one forty-seven in the morning.”

“Whoa, yikes, didn’t realize it was that late.” Mark ran his fingers through his hair. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Wade said. “It must be important if you’re calling this late.”

“Yeah, well, I mean...” Mark looked to the floor, trying to find the words. Now that he had someone to talk to, it seemed all he had built up in his head about Jack and his feelings toward him were harder speak.

“ _No, no, everything’s fine_ ,” Wade whispered to someone on his end. “ _It’s just Mark, I’m pretty sure he’s drunk. Go back to sleep, I gotta take care of him_.”

“I am not drunk,” Mark immediately fired back.

“Well, you’re obviously not sober,” Wade said, then told whoever he was whispering to that he would be back.

“I’m just a tad tipsy, is all,” Mark said.

“ _’A tad’_.” Wade scoffed. “Mark, are you okay? Did you call me about you being alone for Christmas? Aren’t you not supposed to have liquor on campus?”

“Actually,” Mark said, “I’m not alone for Christmas.”

“What do you mean?” Wade asked. “Did you hire a stripper or something?”

“God, no, Wade, there’s this other teacher that’s here with me.” Mark couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “He teaches English and donates all his plane ticket money to charity and listens to me ramble about cookies...” Mark sighed. “I’m in love, Wade. I need help.”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, there, Mark,” Wade said. “That doesn’t sound like love; that sounds like drunken infatuation.”

“No, no, Wade, you don’t understand.” Mark sat up in his bed. “ _I need help_.”

“Like hell you do,” Wade said. “Where are you? Do I need to call a cab or something to get you home?”

“Wade, chill out, I’m in my bed on campus,” Mark said. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Contrary to popular belief.” Wade sighed, a big crackle in the receiver.

“Wade, Wade, _please_ ,” Mark whined. “I _neeeeed_ help. I’m in love with this guy! What do I do?”

“You sleep,” Wade said, traces of slumber replaced with annoyance in his voice. “You get some rest and sleep the alcohol off.”

“No, no, listen to me. He’s a drummer and he’s Irish and when he’s tipsy he doesn’t pronounce his T H’s and dammit, Wade, I want him in my bed, I want to lick him, I--”

“Mark, Mark, slow down,” Wade laughed. “Don’t lick him, for the love of God, _don’t lick him_.”

“I’m not gonna,” Mark said. “I just wanna.”

Wade sighed a laugh. “Can you even date other teachers in the school?”

“I don’t know,” Mark said, “and I don’t fucking care, I just wanna--”

“--Lick him, I know.” Wade sighed. “Look man, just get some sleep. Call me in the morning.”

“But he’s so pretty--“

“I know, I know,” Wade said. “Just go to sleep. Please. Can I trust you to do that?”

Mark nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Wade nodded once. “Good,” he said. “G’bye, Mark.”

“Mmbye.”


	4. Kristmas Kinks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all typos in this chapter are intentional!!

Jack awoke with a mouthful of couch. He groaned and sat up from where he was wedged between the cushions. Rubbing his face, he trudged into the kitchen to make some coffee. He was sure Mark would need it as much as he did; the square whiskey bottle was tipped over and empty on the table. He found his phone where it had been charging on the counter and saw he had a text from his friend and colleague Dan.

**Sent from danny :^*** **at 7:56 AM:**

_How’re things cooking w/ prince charming? ‘,:)_

Jack scoffed at the message and typed back a reply.

_not cooking at all. thx for reminding me (:_

Jack opened the cabinet as the water in the coffee pot began to rumble. He glanced over all the mugs, some personalized and others plain. Stifling a yawn, he wondered if any of the special ones were Mark’s. He hoped it wasn’t the old meme one in the back.

Jack’s phone buzzed as he set his mug down.

Danny had sent, _Oohh, not the sarcastic smiley!! What happened?_

Jack shook his head and sent, _nothing. at all._ He watched the coffee drip down into the pot as he waited for Danny to type.

 _Make a move!_ he sent.

Jack rolled his eyes. _how??????_ And then, _i don’t even think he’s gay._

 _Hang up some mistletoe and he will be_ , Danny replied. _Lay underneath the tree on Christmas morning with a bow over the goods._

Jack laughed as he typed, _give him my dick in a box?_

_Exactly!_

Jack set his phone down as he bent over and laughed. When he looked back at his phone, Danny had followed up.

_Get kinky_

_Strip tease w/ tinsel_

_Put on a Santa hat and red briefs and give him a lap dance_

_Roleplay as the elf and snowman from that old Rudolph cartoon_

_Or better yet_

_Rudolph and the yeti_

This much laughing was only making Jack’s headache worse, but he couldn’t stop. He managed to reply, _stop there!! no more Christmas kinks, thank u_

 _Kristmas kinks_ , Danny sent, then, _Just giving some suggestions ;);)_

Jack rolled his eyes, trying to stop his grinning. He sent a line of middle finger emojis.

Danny replied with laugh-crying emojis, then was silent for a while.

The coffee pot had brewed enough for a mug, so Jack filled his up. He stirred in some sugar, then lightly laughed to himself as he sipped the hot liquid.

He watched his phone screen where it was propped up on the sugar bowl. The typing symbol was mesmerizing to Jack’s tired eyes, and he continued to blow on his coffee.

Finally, Danny’s message was sent, and Jack nearly choked when he read it.

_...Do u even know how to flirt?_

Jack exchanged his mug for his phone. _of course i can flirt!!_

 _Then why the hell are you so nervous?_ Danny replied. _Mark wouldn’t spend this much time with u unless he was a little into u. Trust me._

Jack rolled his eyes. _what the hell are you suggesting??_

_Just fucking make a move on him!! Have kinky kristmas sex ;););););)_

Jack heard shuffling down the stairs and quickly typed out _fuck you :)_ and sent it before locking his phone and tossing it aside.

Mark walked into the kitchen slowly, very tired and definitely a little hungover. Jack drank it up, from the bedhead to the slept in clothes. Even hungover, he could drive Jack wild.

“Merry Christmas Eve Eve,” Jack said softly, smiling. “I made coffee.”

“Joy to the world,” Mark said, reaching the corner of the kitchen where Jack was standing. He pulled one of the bland mugs from the cabinet and filled it to the brim.

Jack watched as Mark took sips of the black coffee slowly, eyes half-lidded and focused on something mid-distance, similar to how Jack had stared at Danny’s typing symbol. Picking up his own mug again, Jack tried not to stare. But with such an adorable ‘I’m-tired-don’t-talk-to-me’ face, Jack couldn’t help himself.

When he finally managed to pull his gaze away from Mark, it went straight to his phone on the counter. It buzzed every minute, Danny’s name the only one in a long list filling the lock screen. Jack smiled behind his mug at this, despite himself.

Mark laughed quietly into his coffee. Jack looked up, brows raised in question.

“Christmas Eve Eve,” Mark repeated. “That’s cute.”

Jack grinned and pretended his blush was from the heat of the mug. “Thanks,” he mumbled. He took a long drink of his coffee, eyeing Mark’s mug. “You know, we have cream and sugar.”

Mark lowered his mug and laughed to himself. “Yeah, I was just wondering why I put myself through that.” He set his mug down and poured in creamer, then reached for the sugar bowl. As he slid it back to himself, he glanced at Jack’s phone. “Is your phone okay? Sounds like it’s havin’ a hard time.”

Jack laughed. “That’s just my friend,” he said. “Spam is his specialty.”

Mark nodded, then chuckled at the phone as it lit up again. “Danny, Danny, Danny, Danny, and also Danny.” He shook his head, then glanced over at Jack. “Is that Avidan? The drama teacher?”

Trying not to wince at his phone still buzzing, Jack nodded. “Yeah, we’re pretty good friends.” He picked his mug back up. “You know him?”

Mark nodded. “Well, everyone’s kinda friends with Dan,” he said. “He’s so nice, it’s hard not to be friends with him.”

Jack sipped his coffee and nodded. “He really is a great guy. Just doesn’t know when to stop.” He gestured to his phone.

Mark chuckled. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” He scooped sugar into his mug. “He’s so good at what he does, too, though. Do you remember that musical they did a couple years back? I passed by rehearsals one day and he can sing like an angel. No joke.”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“He’s handsome as hell, too,” Mark said, stirring his coffee. Jack’s expression went cold. “I wouldn’t mind lookin’ like that, to say the very least.”

Jack nodded stiffly, then grabbed his phone. “I, uh, I know what you mean,” he said. “I’m gonna reply to him now, y’know, I’ve kept him waiting long enough.”

Mark nodded and drank his coffee.

Jack tried to keep a straight face as he unlocked his phone and opened Danny’s messages. He didn’t even read them. He sent, _fuck man fuck you he has a bigger crush on you than he does me!_

Dan’s typing bubble stopped for a second before restarting. _What????_

Jack glanced at Mark as he typed. _mark saw all the notifs of u spamming me then started rambling about how fuckign perfect u are fuck u mN FUCK_

 _Hey hey hey slow down there,_ Danny sent, then, after a pause, _Can u blame him tho?_

Jack dropped his phone on the counter. He muttered swears at it as if Dan would hear them through the screen.

Mark looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Everything alright?” he asked.

Jack screamed in his head, rebuttals and swears and a long chorus of ‘ _no_ ’s. “Yeah,” he said instead. “Just... old memes.”

Mark nodded slowly, laughing softly. “I understand.”

Jack picked his phone back up and read through the messages Dan had sent.

_I’m kidding! Sorry haha_

_Jack seriously I’m joking don’t hate me_

_Is he with you?? Give the phone to him, I’ll talk to him._

Jack rolled his eyes and replied, _No fucking way am I handing him this phone when you have the power to just fuckin tell him that i have the crush of the century on him._

Dan took his time typing, _...Now there’s an idea_

Jack sent, _NO WHY DID I GIVE YUO THAT IDEAA_

_Heheeheheheheeheheeheheehehee ;);););)_

Jack cursed under his breath and sighed. He leant on the counter in front of him, rubbing his temples. At that moment, he couldn’t quite remember why he was friends with Danny.

An unfamiliar text tone filled the room. Mark pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Huh, that’s funny,” he said.

“Hm?” Jack gazed lazily over at Mark.

“Danny just texted me.”

Jack turned to face him, unable to hide the horror in his expression. His mind buzzed with cusses.

“His ears must’ve been burning,” Mark said, blissfully unaware, opening his phone. Jack couldn’t do much else but stare and hope Dan hadn’t done what Jack thought he had.

Mark squinted at the small text and inconspicuously tilted the screen away from Jack.

 _When are u gonna make a move on Jack?_ Danny had sent.

Mark’s heart picked up. He tried to control his expression, thinking of how Danny’s timing was always impeccable, with Jack being in the room and all. The only reaction Mark gave was a slight raise of an eyebrow.

“Wh-What’s he sayin’?” Jack asked.

Mark clicked the power button on his phone and put it back in his pocket. “Just wishing happy holidays,” he said coolly, lifting the corner of his mouth.

Jack exhaled. “Good,” he said. “I mean, that’s nice.”

“Yeah,” Mark said. “Yeah.”

Jack went back to his phone and typed, _what the hell did u do??!!_

Mark pulled his phone back out and faced away from Jack. He replied to Dan with, _When you get off my ass about it!_

Jack slurped up the last of his coffee, then sighed as he filled the mug again. Mark’s gaze trailed down his posture, how it showed in his slept-in shirt, from the curve of his neck to the slightest one at the small of his back. His sleepy, soft skin almost glowed in the eleven AM sun that leaked through the curtain. He was a dream, a gift. Soft-serve ice cream that Mark hadn’t the money to buy, but lusted after nonetheless.

Mark looked down at his half-drank coffee, ashamed of his staring. This whole ‘crush’ thing was getting out of hand.

“Hey, um,” he said, “I just remembered I have to make a call.”

“Oh,” Jack said. “Alright. Take your time.” He scooped sugar into his mug. “Do you want some breakfast? I make some mean eggs.”

Mark smiled, slowly backing out of the kitchen. “Sounds great, but don’t wait up on me.” He held up his phone. “I just gotta--” he shook his phone and Jack nodded in understanding. “Yeah. I’ll be right--” He bumped into the door frame, then winced and stepped through properly. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Jack nodded and tried not to smile too wide. Jack’s phone buzzed, and then Mark’s did, both with the same message from Danny:

_;)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna thank everyone for the love on this fic!! It makes my day when ppl comment and leave kudos, and I'm happy if someone just reads this story. So, thank you so much!! I love you!!!! (sorry, sappy is my specialty ^-^')


	5. Abort, Abort!

When Mark was up in his room, he opened his recent calls and waited for Wade to pick up. It only took two rings before he answered.

“Hey,” Wade said. There was noise in the background, chatter and music into a low fuzz in the receiver.

“Hi,” Mark said, “what’s up, man?”

“Not, uh, much,” Wade said. “Just watching the Santa Clause movies.”

Mark laughed. “Nice.”

“And you?” Wade asked, the background noise cutting off. “Are you sober enough to talk sophisticatedly about that crush thing?”

Mark winced, remembering pieces of the conversation they’d had the night before. “I am. Sorry about last night.”

“No, it’s alright,” Wade said. “You wanna start from the beginning?”

Mark exhaled. “Yeah.” He sat down at his desk. “I just... I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like... I look at him and he’s gorgeous and I talk to him and we laugh and laugh and-and when I think about him I don’t stop. When I’m around him, I just feel good, y’know? I just... He’s just... Perfect. And not movie perfect, not ‘I’m being naïve’ perfect. _Flawed_ perfect. _Perfect for_ _me_ perfect.”

After a pause, Wade sighed. “This isn’t good,” he said.

“What?” Mark asked.

“You sound the same as when you were drunk.”

Mark closed his eyes and shook his head. “The worst part is that I can’t even argue with you.”

Wade laughed. “You got it bad, huh?”

Mark nodded miserably. “ _Help me_ , Wade. What do I do?”

Wade sighed. “I don’t know, man, I don’t know,” he said. “Do you think he feels the same? Get any... _vibes_ from him at all?”

Mark exhaled. “I don’t know. I’m pretty sure he’s bi? And I honestly don’t know if he’s flirting with me or if he’s just that nice. I mean, I told you he donated his Christmas bonus to charity, right?”

“Yeah, you did.”

Mark nodded and ran his fingers through his hair.

“That sounds familiar, though,” Wade said.

“What does?” Mark leaned back in his chair.

“The, uh, flirty-versus-nice thing,” Wade said. “With the drama teacher.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Mark said. He sat up. “Something fucking weird, though! Danny just texted me, like, five minutes ago.”

“Wow,” Wade said. “Have you talked to him about the Jack thing?”

“Yeah,” Mark said. “Yeah, I did. Is that weird? To talk to him about that?”

“I guess not,” Wade said, shrug apparent in his voice. “Unless you’re thinking about how absolutely _taken_ by him you used to be.”

“Hey,” Mark said. “I got over that.”

“I think you mean, ‘I got under him’,” Wade said, and Mark could just see the sly grin on his face.

“Shut the fuck up,” he said. “It was a fling and it happened but we’re good friends now.”

Wade shook his head. “I just don’t see how that happened. Usually something like that makes things awkward between two people.”

Mark laughed once. “Not when it’s Danny. Sex is like a handshake to him.”

Wade laughed. “Oh, God. Remind me to never make his acquaintance.”

Mark laughed, then swiveled back and forth in his chair. “You know, him and Jack are friends.”

“Really?” Wade asked.

“Yeah, they were texting when I walked into the kitchen this morning,” Mark said.

Wade asked, “Do you think they’ve... shook hands?”

Mark laughed disbelievingly, feebly. “I-I dunno.” He blinked, trying to get the image out of his head. “Maybe?”

“Well, we know it’s a possibility,” Wade said.

Mark nodded, eyes downcast. “I dunno, I...” He twirled a stray pencil on his desk. “He did seem awfully awkward when we were talking about Danny this morning.”

“How so?”

“I dunno.” Mark scrunched up his eyebrows. “I was just talking about Danny’s singing...”

“Do you think Danny told Jack about you two?” Wade asked.

“No, he’s not that kind of guy.” Mark tapped the eraser of this pencil he was fiddling with on his lips.

“I dunno...” Wade exhaled. “Maybe Jack’s insecure about his voice?”

Mark laughed once. “Doubt it.”

“Hm.” Wade was silent for a moment. “Wait, Danny was texting Jack when you were talking about him?”

Mark nodded. “Yeah?”

“And how long after that did he text you?” he asked.

Mark tilted his head. “I dunno. The next minute?”

“What did he text you?”

Mark furrowed his eyebrows. “He asked me about when I was gonna make a move on Jack.”

Wade held an arm out. “He was texting Jack, and Jack was being awkward when you were complimenting Danny, then _he_ texted _you_.”

Mark shook his head. “Where are you going with this?”

“I’m just saying that this all can’t be coincidental,” Wade said. “Jack must’ve mentioned you to him while texting--perhaps about an interest in you--and that prompted Danny to text you about Jack.”

“How does that explain the awkwardness?”

Wade sighed. “Jack wants you to be complimenting _him_ , not Danny!”

Mark scrunched his nose and tilted his head. “I dunno... Seems kind of far-fetched, there, Sherlock.”

As silence ensued, Wade shook his head. “Well, Jack at the very least thought enough of you to mention you to Danny.”

Mark held his shoulders high as he said, “Maybe Danny just thought, ‘hey, I’m texting a friend who my other friend is crushing on, why don’t I text him, too?’”

Wade shook his head. “Seems awfully convenient to me.”

“Well, maybe you--” Mark was interrupted by a knock at his door. “--Hold on a second, Wade--Who is it?” He cringed instantly. _Who else could be at the door?_ He cleared his throat. “I mean, come in!”

He could hear Jack’s laughter (and Wade’s giggles through the phone) as he opened the door.

“Um, it’s room service,” Jack said, grinning. His eyes landed on Mark. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your phone call. But breakfast’s ready, if you want any.”

“No, no, we were just finishing up,” Mark said with a smile. “I’ll be there in a minute. Thanks so much.”

Jack smiled. “No problem, love.” The door closed behind him and he winced. He sped away and down the stairs. “Well, Jack,” he muttered to himself, “if you weren’t already fucking obvious, just tell the fuckin’ guy you fucking love him. I’m such an idiot!”

Mark sat staring at the door.

“...Did I hear that right?” Wade asked. “Did he just call you ‘love’?”

“Uh, uh-huh, yeah, uh,” Mark said, phone clutched loosely in his hand. “That’s a UK thing, right?”

Wade scoffed incredulously, holding his arm out. “You know what, Mark? Get your head out of your own ass.” And he hung up.

Mark barely noticed. Eyes trained on the door, he let the phone drop to his lap.

 

 

Jack took his breakfast to his room out of sheer embarrassment. He sat at his desk, a sick feeling welling in his stomach. He was sure he blew it. Ignoring the food that he had brought with him, he lay on his bed, cursing, swearing, muttering to himself.

Mark came down to the kitchen a couple of minutes later to find it empty. He wondered where Jack went, and after looking in the living room, he pulled out his phone. He sat at the kitchen table, opening his texts with Jack. The keyboard appeared.

He could hear Wade’s voice in his head, screaming, _A text? Really, Mark?!_

He sighed and put the phone down on the table, leaving it open. Although Mark hated to admit it, Wade would be right in this case. They were the only ones in the campus and house, and they weren’t teenagers (although he couldn’t deny their behavior was uncanny).

He stood and left his phone to fall asleep on the table, heading for the stairs. When he was at Jack’s door, he paced in front of it. He was here, yes, and that took enough courage as it was, but what would he say when he knocked on the door? Could he even summon up enough self-assurance to knock?

Jack removed his hands from his face at the sound of footsteps. If Mark was trying to be inconspicuous, he was doing a terrible job; Jack could practically feel his heavy footsteps through the door.

He stood, eyebrows furrowed, and opened the door.

Mark turned around at the sound of the knob turning.

“Mark?” Jack asked. “What’re you doing?” He stepped a little closer into the crack of the door. “Food’s downstairs; you can eat without me, can’t you?”

Mark tried a smile, but it came out as a cringe, more a bearing of teeth. “Yeah, I...,” he said. “I was just wondering where you went.”

“Well,” Jack chuckled, “there’s not much else where I could go.”

Mark kept his eyes down. “Yeah, I realize that now.” He ran his fingers through his hair and let out a laugh. “I just,” he shrugged, “I dunno.” He met Jack’s gaze, then saw the plate at Jack’s desk. “Were you gonna eat in here? Alone?”

Jack glanced back and winced. _Embarrassment at maximum levels, abort, abort!_ “Um, yeah? I just...” He scrambled for a lie. “Didn’t know how long you were gonna be on the phone. Kitchen was too big to eat alone in.”

Mark nodded, not completely convinced. “Okay. Well, I said I was finishing up and I’m not on the phone now, so...” He gestured down the hall. “I mean, unless you’re really committed to your room.” They laughed weakly. “I’m just saying... There’ll be a spot at the kitchen table for you.”

Jack nodded. “Thank you.”

Mark nodded and took a step back, lips in a flat line, only a little hopeful.

Jack closed the door. He sighed and pressed his forehead into it. He was still too embarrassed to sit through a whole meal with him, knowing that they’d both be sitting there, hearing that dumb term of endearment repeating in their heads.

 _Love, love, love.._.

 

 

Mark had breakfast by himself, then texted Jack that he was going out to the store (he figured if Jack was acting like a teenager by locking himself in his room, Mark could send him an adolescent text). He wandered around the Walgreens in town, then came back to campus. He broke his laptop back out and worked into the evening. Then, when he’d had enough of his own four walls, he ventured downstairs.

Finding it empty again, he played music from the cup to sweep the silence under the rug. He cleaned up their cups from the evening previous and hummed along to carols. He found the empty whiskey bottle on the kitchen table and sighed. He was thinking he’d need that tonight.

Deciding that the Diet Dr. Pepper and gum he’d bought at the store wasn’t a suitable meal, Mark began to cook. It looked like Jack had cleaned up from when he cooked that morning either when Mark was out or when he was working. Nonetheless, Mark was grateful for the clean pots and pans.

He only began to feel in over his head with cooking when it was about halfway finished. Everything seemed it had decided to boil over at the exact same time, and he realized he had misread the knobs on the stove. As he was finally getting it under control, the dishrag he had dropped had ended up near one of the eyes and caught on fire.

Mark plucked it away and searched the drawers for something to put it out with. The fire alarm sounded, only making him sloppier in searching. In a blind panic of realizing he had thrown the fiery rag towards the paper towel rack, he whipped off his shirt and beat the fire with it until it was out.

When he dared stop, he looked at the mess he’d made. The fire was out, thankfully, but the stove was getting messier, sauce bubbling and splattering and pasta surely overcooked.

“Holy hell,” came a voice from behind Mark.

He turned and found Jack in the doorway, slack-jawed and staring. Mark rung his t-shirt in his hands.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m so sorry, are you okay? The fire alarm didn’t wake you or anything, did it?”

Jack stood staring at Mark. He shook his head and inhaled. “No, no, I...”

Mark turned back to the stove, trying to get everything back under control. “I am so sorry. That rag wasn’t yours, was it?”

Jack blinked and closed his mouth. “Uh, no, I...” He pulled his gaze away from Mark and over to the stove, and stepped over quickly. “Let me help you,” he said, grabbing the wooden spoon from the side of the saucepan. He stirred and turned the eye down, then glanced at Mark out of the corner of his eye. “Aren’t you gonna, umm...” he cleared his throat “get cold without your shirt?”

“Shit, that’s right, sorry.” He tugged his shirt back on before taking the pot of pasta off the eye. “Sorry you had to see that,” he chuckled.

Jack resisted the urge to scoff. “No apology needed.” He peeked over at Mark again. Now that he knew what was beneath, he couldn’t stop seeing it. The tone and curves of his muscles, the abs that hid behind his shirt. The way shoulders and arms moved to swat out the fire, back muscles stretching to assist. Jack looked back to the pan, unsure if it was a good or bad thing that he saw that.

Mark held his hand out for the spoon Jack was holding. “May I?”

Jack hoped the steam and smoke covered his blush as he took a step away. Nodding, he handed Mark the wooden spoon.

Mark thanked him and stood in front of the saucepan, stirring it before scooping some up for a taste.

In that moment, Jack was thankful Mark was oblivious. He watched as he blew on the spoon, then wrapped his mouth around the edge, and how he licked his lips after.

Mark held the spoon out to Jack, the side that had some sauce left facing him. Jack’s eyes shot up to meet Mark’s gaze. He hoped he didn’t notice the staring.

“Does this taste burnt to you?” Mark asked. He had his free hand hovering under the spoon, and now reached for Jack’s chin.

Too surprised to act, Jack stood frozen under his touch. He’d never thought about how intimate cooking was, how such a simple action as this could make his heart jump.

He made an attempt to taste the sauce with the fervor and seduction that Mark had, but the taste of the sauce ruined the flair. “Egh, yup, that’s burnt,” Jack said with a laugh.

“Damn,” Mark said, dropping the spoon back into the pan. He pushed it off the stove and Jack turned the eye off.

“Is the pasta any good?” Jack asked. “Maybe we can save that; I know a couple things we could do with it.”

Mark glanced doubtfully at the pot. “Pretty sure that’s just sludge.”

Jack shook his head, laughing lightly. “Well, what do you wanna do? I mean, I have more stuff, but I was kinda hoping to save it for tomorrow and Christmas.”

Mark nodded, then tilted his head back and forth. “Do you think anything in town is still open?”


	6. Hard To Tell

It turned out that the only place that served food under an hour drive away was a hole-in-the-wall joint at the edge of town. The cab dropped them off in front and with a shared, wary glance, they proceeded. The sludge crunched and squished beneath their feet as they approached the door, snow and soot and pollution discarded with the inhabitants of the bar.

“You sure you wanna go in there?” Jack asked. “Might be kinda depressing, y’know, two days before Christmas.”

Mark shook his head. “It doesn’t start getting depressing until tomorrow;” he said; “tonight’s the cutoff.”

Jack laughed. “Okay, then.” He gestured to the door. “You first.”

Mark shook his head and held the door open for Jack. He thanked him sheepishly.

When they were both in, they recognized the familiar instrumental of All I Want For Christmas before a terribly off-key voice began singing. Jack flinched and Mark smiled. They took seats at the bar and looked over a weathered menu.

“I didn’t fuckin’ know this was a karaoke bar,” Jack said.

“It’s not, usually,” the bartender said. He was a man deep into his sixties with graying, thinning hair that hung desperately onto his head. “This time’a year’s just special. See, carol karaoke’s a tradition in this here bar the week before Christmas, hasn’t been broken f’r nearly three and a half decades.” He held up three crooked fingers and raised his eyebrows.

“Wow,” Mark said, slightest of smiles on his face, wonderment in his eyes. Jack resisted the urge to laugh at the drunken karaoke singer’s attempt at a high note.

“You two boys should get up and sing a number ‘r two,” the bartender said.

“No fuckin’ thank you,” Jack said. “Not unless you want everyone in your bar deafened.”

The bartender and Mark laughed. Mark said, “He’ll come around after a few drinks,” then pointed to something on the menu. “Can we have some mozzarella sticks?”

“And a Jack and Coke on the rocks,” Jack said.

“And do you have anything holiday themed drinks?”

The bartender smiled. “We have something I like to call ‘Holly Jolly Eggnog’.”

“Sounds good,” Mark said. “What’s in it?”

“It’s real good, son, it’s rum and eggnog with a dash of cinnamon on top.” The bartender motioned like he was sprinkling it.

Mark smiled. “Festive. I’ll have one.”

He said, “Fantastic,” then turned to prepare their orders.

“I can’t believe you’re gettin’ that,” Jack said. “It sounds absolutely rancid.”

“It’s Christmas,” Mark said with a shrug, like it was explanation enough.

Jack rolled his eyes, smiling anyway. “Okay, okay, I digress.” He pulled the small basket of peanuts on the bar towards them.

The bartender said their orders back to them as he placed them on coasters (an act that Jack thought was pointless, considering the state of the bar). “And I’ll get workin’ on those mozzarella sticks.”

Mark thanked him and he walked back off, pausing to refill a group’s beers.

Jack pulled his drink close and took a sip, then looked at the glass it was in as he swallowed. It was a standard tumbler, stout and sturdy. Jack thought wistfully that it had maybe seen more years than he had. With a look at Mark’s drink, Jack held back a smile. The glass was tall and curvy, the thick, off-white drink sprinkled with cinnamon, as promised.

Looking back to his own drink, Jack sighed. He rubbed his thumb over the almost unnoticeable scratch in the glass. “Three and a half decades,” he muttered.

“What?” Mark asked, pulling his gaze away from the makeshift stage in the corner of the room. “I didn’t catch that.”

“Nothing, nothing,” Jack said. “Just soakin’ up the age of this place.”

“Yeah,” Mark breathed. “Sure is a relic, huh?”

Jack nodded, then took another drink from his glass.

With an endeared glance back at the karaoke singer, Mark sighed contently. “So,” he said, leaning in close to Jack. “When are you gonna sing for us?”

Jack scoffed, digging around in the peanuts basket. “Not enough Jack and Coke in the world.”

Mark nudged Jack’s elbow with his. “C’mon, not even one?”

“No,” Jack said, then cut his gaze to Mark. “If you like the idea so much, why don’t you go up there yourself?”

Mark paled. “Me?” He looked down, shaking his head. “No, I’m no good.”

Jack scoffed. “Have you _heard_ this poor guy?” He nodded towards the stage. “I’m about ready to stuff these peanuts in my ears.” He shook the small basket of them on the bar.

Mark laughed. “Yeah, I guess.” He grabbed a couple peanuts and rolled them around in his palm.

“And you sing like it’s no one’s fuckin’ business,” Jack said, “for the record.”

“Nah,” Mark said, mouth full of peanuts, “you just wanna see me shake the money maker.” He wiggled in his seat.

Jack threw his head back and laughed. He said, “You know it, baby.”

Before Mark could reply beyond a rise of heat to his cheeks, the bartender returned with a plate of steaming hot mozzarella sticks.

“Family recipe,” he said, swapping the tray of peanuts for the platter.

Mark and Jack each grabbed one eagerly, thanking the bartender. He looked between the two of them with a small smile on his face.

“You two boys sure do make a lovely couple.”

Jack choked on mozzarella while Mark gave the man a look of confusion. Jack reached for his drink, not thinking better of it until the burning, bitter, cold liquid was scratching down his throat. He shook his head furiously, tears pouring down his face as he tried to catch some oxygen in his lungs.

“My daughter finally got to marry her wife just recently,” the bartender went on. “It’s just nice to, y’know, see it outside of home. To know that it’s out there, even in the middle of nowhere.”

Jack hid his face in his arms, forehead on the bar, letting out final coughs. Mark placed a hand on his back. Smiling at the bartender, he said, “That’s lovely to hear. And it’s nice for us to know it’s out there, too.” Jack wheezed and Mark rubbed circles in his back.

The bartender nodded and smiled.

“When was the ceremony?” Mark asked.

“Back in march,” the bartender said. “It was just beautiful, flowers everywhere, sun shone bright, the temperature just perfect.” He made a sweeping motion as he spoke. “What about you boys? Set a date yet or still holdin’ off?”

Mark smiled and Jack tilted his head to glare at him from the crook of his elbow.

“No,” Mark said. “Haven’t asked him _that_ question...” He leant over the bar. “... _Yet_.” He winked at the man and held a finger of his mouth as he smiled.

The bartender laughed boisterously, smacking the counter. “That’s just great,” he said. He turned to Jack’s slumped figure on the bar. “You got yourself a keeper, here.”

Jack turned redder and redder as Mark laughed.

“Ah, poor thing,” Mark said. “Can I have a glass of water for him?”

“’Course,” he said, then hobbled off the retrieve it.

Jack peeked over his arm as Mark leaned in close. “You okay?” he asked.

“No,” Jack said. Knowing it was pointless to hide his red face, he sat up and rubbed tear tracks from his cheeks with his sleeve. “Why the fuck are you tellin’ that man we’re together?”

“Well, I didn’t tell him we were ‘together’, per say,” Mark said. “I told him we were happy to hear his daughter got married and that I hadn’t asked you to marry me, both of which are true, aren’t they?”

“But--fucking--!” Jack groaned and covered his face with his hands. “It _implies_ that we’re together.”

“What’s the harm in humoring an old man?” Mark asked.

Jack unzipped his jacket and shrugged it off, tossing it onto the counter. “Is it just me or is it fucking hot in here?”

The bartender returned with a tall glass of water. “On the house.”

 _Isn’t water free anyway?_ Jack thought to himself, but took the drink and gulped it gratefully.

Mark thanked the bartender before he was off to tend to other customers.

As Jack hit the midway point of his glass of water, Mark had a drink of his Holly Jolly Eggnog. He watched Jack come up for air, leaving almost nothing but ice in the cup, then looked on as he wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his sweater.

The corner of Mark’s mouth lifted. _Cute_ crossed his mind again, then as his eyes ate up how the sweater fit Jack’s body, _Yum_. Mark tried to distract himself with a swallow of his drink, but couldn’t pull his eyes away. The way the thick fabric hugged his shoulders and chest, how it ran down his torso and arms, the dark knit accenting the pale skin of his neck and face, how the stitching stretched ever so slightly at the peaks of his chest and biceps... Mark had never thought a sweater could look so... _delectable_ on a person. Mark licked his lips, of the eggnog left there and at the thought of all the untasted skin beneath that sweater.

Jack glanced up at Mark from where he was leaning over the platter. Heat rose to his neck and cheeks. “What’cha lookin’ at me like that for?”

Mark shook his head, realizing how creepy his stare must’ve been. He turned to the mozzarella sticks. “Just, y’know,” he picked one up, “hungry.”

Jack laughed, suspicious. “Okay...” He finished off the one he held.

A couple drinks and another plate of appetizers later, they sat and watched the karaoke singers, rating their renditions of the songs on a scale of one to ten. The man that sat a couple stools away from them joined in, biased by the mixture of alcohol and (almost) pretty women. Just tipsy enough to not feel bad about it, they gave almost everyone consistent twos and threes, or in the case of one poor woman, a solid negative eleven.

After one particularly unpleasant performance of Santa Baby by a big man with a mighty beard, the person manning the karaoke tracks stood on the stage. He said he was looking for some people to do a duet of Baby It’s Cold Outside. Mark and Jack looked at each other and had a fit of giggles.

“I can’t wait to see th’ poor saps they pull up f’r that one,” Mark laughed.

“I hope it’s just one person,” Jack said. “T’at way, t’ey’ll have’ta do both parts t’emselves.”

Mark laughed until no sound came out, and Jack laughed with him, trying to get through an example of what it would sound like.

“You boys sh’d go up there,” their drunken friend said.

“No foohckin’ way,” Jack said. “I wouldn’t be caught dead up there.”

“Yeah,” Mark said, then burped. “I’m not goin’ up there ‘n’ makin’ a fool’a myself.”

The bartender gave them a mischievous smile, then called to the karaoke DJ, “We’ve got some takers!” and pointed to them.

Mark and Jack protested, shaking their heads and trying for excuses.

“They’re just a little shy,” the bartender said. “Go on up there.” He motioned towards the stage. “It’s tradition.”

The KJ waved them over, but they still didn’t budge. “Aw, looks like our duet’s a little shy tonight,” he said, then turned to the rest of the people in the bar. “How about some encouragement?”

The people near the stage cheered until the rest of the bar clapped half-heartedly, ready to laugh at the next victim of the stage. The man they previously rated other karaoke singers with whooped at the top of his lungs and applauded. The bartender nodded at them, eyes knowing.

Mark and Jack shared a glance, then with a sigh of digression, they stood. The few people that filled the bar cheered louder as they approached the makeshift stage.

As they climbed, Mark said to Jack, “Apparently there _are_ enough Jack and Cokes in the world.”

Jack rolled his eyes and shoved him, and then they were onstage.

The karaoke DJ handed them microphones and said, “Don’t worry if you don’t know the words; no one does.”

They looked at each other, panic replaced with determination.

“You ready to put on the show of a lifetime?” Mark asked as the music began.

“You bet,” Jack said. He spun Mark around and held him in a hug from behind as they swayed to the music. “Do you want t’e guy’s or girl’s part?”

“I really can’t stayyyy,” Mark sang in a falsetto.

Jack expertly held back his laughter as he nearly growled the guy’s part. Mark made large gestures with his arms as he sang, dramatically sighing that he had to go. Reeling him back in with another promise that it was cold outside, Jack spun Mark out of his arms.

If they didn’t have the bar’s attention before, they did now. Everyone watched on as they dramatically reenacted the song, miming the actions they sang and waltzing around the stage like proper idiots, too tipsy to think better of it. In the music break, they twirled around the small stage. Jack almost tumbled off, but Mark pulled him back up in perfect time for the vocals queue.

They continued, earning laughter and applause until the end note, which they stuck out perfectly. Half of the people in the bar gave a standing ovation while the other half cheered just as loud. Mark took a bow and Jack dropped the mic before stepping off the stage.

“That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?” the bartender asked.

Jack laughed. “I guess not.”

The bartender smiled. “There ya go. Just for yer efforts, next round’s on me.”

“We really shouldn’t,” Mark said.

“Next plate of mozzarella sticks?” he asked.

Mark smiled politely. “We really oughtta go.”

“But we’ll take those to-go, t’ank you,” Jack said.

The bartender grinned and nodded. “Comin’ right up.”

As they waited for the appetizer to cook, Mark called a cab and waited outside for it. Jack met him outside minutes later with the warm Styrofoam box in hand.

Mark stood at the curb, only swaying slightly in the breeze. His nose ran as he squinted at the horizon, the direction the wind was coming from.

“Looks like snow,” Jack said, standing next to him.

Mark nodded and kept his gaze fixed on the clouds barreling in. He asked, “How drunk do you think you are?”

Jack shrugged and blinked. “’S hard to tell, but I’m always drunker t’an I t’ink I am.” He turned to face Mark. “Why?”

Mark shrugged and shook his head. “Just curious.”

“No,” Jack said, planting his feet. “You asked t’at for a reason.”

Mark shook his head, eyes set on his shoes.

“No, no, tell me,” Jack pressed on, leaning closer.

Mark finally set his gaze on Jack. His sloppy, slow brain told his heart to pick up speed and his eyes flicked down to Jack’s mouth of their own accord. Jack didn’t notice, but squinted at him like the notion was coming to him slowly. He licked his own too-pink lips as the cab pulled up.

They stood staring at each other until Mark stroked Jack’s cheek and said, “It’s nothing, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These past few weeks have been so wild, I forgot to upload yesterday, but here it is now!! thanks for all the love on this fic, it means so much!!
> 
> The idea of a Christmas-themed night at a karaoke bar and getting pulled up to sing Baby it's Cold Outside came from a prompt by @pondsandpotters on tumblr!!


	7. Christmas Magic and Fairy Dust

In his half-drunk venture, Mark fell asleep in the hall. After walking with Jack to his room--since it was a floor beneath his own--he had taken two steps away and lay down. When he was awake, he found his hangover wasn’t terrible, but was there for sure.

He rolled into the wall, and that’s when he noticed he was in the floor. Groaning, he rubbed his face.

Jack opened his door and stumbled out, hanging onto the doorframe. Without skipping a beat, he asked Mark, “Where the fuck did we leave the aspirin?”

Leaving one hand covering his eyes, Mark pointed to the stairs. “Kitchen.”

Jack mumbled a thanks and grumbled down to the kitchen, Mark following shortly after.

Sat on the counter next to the stove, Jack fumbled with the aspirin bottle. Mark held his hand out. Begrudgingly, he was handed the bottle and opened it with ease.

Jack allowed himself to smile as he was handed the medicine. “Thanks.”

Mark waved it off and swallowed his aspirin with water straight from the tap.

They sat in silence, both grateful for it. Mark wondered how he ended up in the floor, recalling the night’s events in reverse. He remembered the cab ride back to campus, how awfully silent it had been. Then, he recalled the moment by the curb. He couldn’t believe himself, almost going in for a kiss like that. He only hoped Jack didn’t remember it.

They glanced over as the coffee pot began gurgling, dripping dark, hot liquid into the pot at the bottom. Mark half-formed a joke about who got the first cup, then reconsidered as his stomach began to churn.

“Did we...,” Jack said, voice low and scratched up and tired. He blinked, brows furrowed. “Did we sing Baby it’s Cold Outside?”

Mark nodded and grinned. His stomach told him to think better of talking.

Jack hummed a single laugh. “I hope someone got that on tape.”

Mark shook his head, groaning in embarrassment.

They finished off the pot of coffee, then retreated to their own rooms. Mark mumbled something about a shower and Jack thought of nothing but his bed. After brushing his teeth and changing out of his clothes from the night before, Jack crawled into the twin-size that was pushed against the right wall. He pulled the duvet over his head and let the aspirin work.

He lay there for what seemed like hours. He felt like he had swallowed his headache, but still housed the ghost of it in his skull. When he felt well enough to sit up, he checked the time. Forty-five minutes had passed, and he didn’t feel like trying any longer for sleep.

Jack opened his messages and texted Mark, _sleeping this off isn’t working :// wyd?_

He closed his eyes and waited for a response, laying on his side. His phone buzzed and he opened an eye.

_Sorry to hear that. How the Grinch stole Christmas is on my tv if you wanna come join :)_

Jack smiled and allowed himself one more glance at his eyelids before he got up. He pulled on a shirt and left his room for Mark’s. He found the door cracked and pushed it open with a knock.

“Hey?” Jack said, leaning into the room.

Mark smiled at him. “Hey,” he said, “come on in.”

Jack stepped in, closing the door behind him. He stood awkwardly in the center of the room.

Mark patted the bed beside him. “C’mon, get comfy.”

Jack sunk into the bed, too exhausted and hungover to care about manners or using them in front of his crush.

“The Grinch cool with you?” Mark asked, pointing the remote at the TV.

“Yeah,” Jack said, smiling at the old animation. He glanced over the antenna atop the television set and the tin foil crumpled at the ends of it, then said, “Your hair looks good when it’s wet.”

Mark’s hand flew up to his head and he laughed nervously. “Oh, right, I forgot.” He ruffled his halfway dry hair. “Took a shower. Blow dryer was too loud.”

Jack nodded, shrugging. “I’m glad for it,” he said. “Just sayin’ it’s nice. Kind of a sexy, greaser look.”

Mark fiddled with the inactive buttons on the remote. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

Jack shrugged and watched as the Grinch tied antlers onto his dog.

Mark turned the volume down a smidge and rubbed his eyes. “Jesus, I’m such a fucking lightweight.”

Jack laughed once. “I’m not any better.”

Mark chuckled. “Yeah, you had, what, two Jack and Cokes and you were leaving your T’s without H’s?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jack laughed, bumping his shoulder into Mark’s. “You were the one stumblin’ after just one of those rotten eggnogs.”

“Hey,” Mark said, “they were really big! And I’m pretty sure that guy gave me two rums to one eggnog.”

Jack laughed. “Sure, sure.”

Mark shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “ _How_ are you not miserable? Isn’t whiskey supposed to fuck you up?”

“I t’ink you’re forgettin’ t’at I’m Irish,” Jack said, thickening his accent. “Honestly, though, I think the only reason I’m not dead with a hangover right now is the glass of water I chugged after that coughing fit.”

Mark gave a small smile. “Wish I had thought to have some water.”

Jack shrugged. “Just the luck o’ the Irish, I guess.”

Mark hummed a laugh, hand covering his eyes.

Instead of watching the cartoon, Jack’s gaze settled on Mark. He looked absolutely miserable, but Jack couldn’t see anything but how beautiful he still was, eyes closed, expression tired.

“Get some sleep,” Jack told him.

“’M tryin’,” Mark replied, voice from deep in his chest.

Jack laughed quietly and turned back to the TV. He sat through a commercial break, fighting off the chill he felt through the window.

Mark slid down the wall a little closer to Jack as he fell deeper into unconsciousness. Jack glanced over and smiled. As little Cindy Loo Who found the Grinch stealing her tree, Mark’s hand landed in Jack’s lap.

Jack looked down at it in surprise. He looked at Mark, then back at the hand set in the middle of his right thigh. It wasn’t close enough to the goods to be of any threat, but too far away from the knee for Jack to be at ease with it.

He stared at it, wondering how he could move it without waking or startling Mark. He held Mark’s thumb between his own and index finger and began to drag it off his leg. Mark mumbled nonsense and gripped Jack’s hand.

After instantly releasing Mark’s thumb, Jack stared at their hands. He knew he should pull his hand away, Mark wouldn’t notice if he did, but... He couldn’t bring himself to do it. He shifted and held it properly, grinning, knowing he’d regret it if Mark woke up to this. He didn’t care.

 

 

When Mark realized he was dozing off, it was too late. He slept dreamlessly, briefly and woke to the sound of Jack’s hushed laughter.

He opened his eyes and saw the TV, then turned and lay on his back, closing his eyes again. He heard Jack suck in a breath, laughter cut off. Mark opened an eye.

Jack stared down at him, stiff. Mark furrowed his eyebrows, then realized at the angle he was looking at him from that he was using Jack’s lap as a pillow.

He only reacted by a heat up his neck and his eyes widening. Jack looked on almost coolly, hand hovering above the top of Mark’s head.

Mark swallowed. “Uh,” he said. “Hi.”

Jack chuckled. “Hello, sleeping beauty.”

Mark furrowed his eyebrows and looked away. “Am I still dreaming?” he asked himself under his breath.

“No,” Jack said, grin ever-present. “It’s okay, though, go back to sleep.” He brushed hair from Mark’s forehead. “Shh, shh.”

Finally regaining sense, Mark sat up. He didn’t know where to begin with questions. “How long was I out?”

“Only about an hour,” Jack said.

“ _An hour_?” Mark asked.

Jack nodded. “I don’t mind, though; they’re playin’ all the good cartoons.” He gestured to the TV.

Mark shook his head, looking from his hands to Jack’s lap. “How...” He shook his head. “How did I end up there?” He motioned to Jack’s lap.

Jack laughed. “Well, you kept leaning further and further into me, so I tried pushin’ you the other way, y’know, towards the pillows, but you insisted on this way. So, I let you use my leg as a pillow and you were fine. You weren’t bothering me. Really.”

Mark shook his head. “I’m so sorry.”

Jack waved him off. “None of that,” he said. “It’s fine.” He sat up and away from the wall. “I’m glad you’re up, though, I was getting hungry.”

Mark tried a smile and nodded.

With a grunt, Jack stood. “I was gonna heat up those mozzarella sticks but I can cook for us if you’re hungry.”

“Uh,” Mark said, rubbing his eye, “sure.”

“Great,” Jack said, heading for the door. “Baked potatoes and hot chocolate sound good to you?”

“Uh,” Mark laughed. “Sure.”

Jack nodded, hand on the doorknob. “Do you wanna eat down there or shall I bring it up here?”

Mark smiled. “That’s okay. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Jack nodded and smiled, then closed the door behind him as he left. Mark sighed and fell back on his bed. Even his sleep self couldn’t keep his cool.

Mark punched a pillow then lay dramatically on it. Closing his eyes, he cursed himself, knowing that Christmas wasn’t even the end. He had a whole week after that to spend alone with him! He either needed to find some chill or grow some flirting skills.

He sighed and stood, deciding to act like an adult about it. He turned off the television, wishing he was asleep again. At least when he was asleep around Jack, he made moves.

Heading downstairs, Mark left all his childish thoughts in his room. He’d come back for them later, surely.

Jack stood at the stove, stirring milk while the potatoes spun in the microwave. He bopped his head back and forth to a song in his head, right foot tapping at an imaginary kick drum.

Mark smiled softly at how adorable he was. He cursed himself for every time _cute_ crossed his mind (which was a lot). Standing just past the doorway, he wished he could stand behind Jack and wrap his arms around him and rest his chin on his shoulder. He wanted to kiss his forehead and sing to him and just _hug_ him, cuddle him and love him and all that romantic shit he hadn’t done with anyone in years. All that stuff in the movies and books, all the Christmas magic and fairy dust.

 _So much for leaving the childish thoughts behind_ , Mark thought to himself.

Jack turned and looked at him. _Cutecutecutecute_. He grinned and asked, “What’s that look for?”

Mark shrugged, trying and failing to stop smiling. “Just, y’know, Christmas and shit.”

Jack nodded and chuckled, turning back to the stove. “Well, alrighty, then.”

Mark stood with his hands in his pockets, knowing that what had just happened was a missed opportunity. He stood next to Jack.

“I know you probably think I’m a bad cook now,” he said, “considering last night. But I swear I just hadn’t cooked anything more intricate than Lean Cuisine in years.”

Jack laughed. “Well if you’re such a good cook,” he nodded over to the microwave, “why don’t you prove it by fixin’ up those potatoes?”

“Oh, okay,” Mark said, rounding Jack. “I see how it is; I have to _work_ for your affection.” He stood facing the microwave, watching the countdown.

“Ah, but there is the trick!” Jack said, holding his mixing spoon up. He pointed it at Mark. “You already have it.”

Mark didn’t dare look over. _Ditto, ditto, ditto._ He asked, “What am I working for, then, if not for your love and affection?”

“This fucking delicious hot chocolate I’m about to throw down,” Jack said.

Mark laughed. “So, you’re saying your hot cocoa is worth more than your love?”

Jack laughed. “Yup!” He stirred and gestured widely over it. “This batch is perfect; not too hot, extra chocolate, shaken, not stirred.”

“Fucking--!” Mark leant on the counter as he laughed. “Was that a _The Santa Clause_ reference?”

“You bet it was,” Jack laughed.

Mark spent his gaze on him. “I just...” _...love you._

_Abort! Abort! You’re in too deep!_

“You just what?” Jack asked. “Just can’t wait to butter up those baked potatoes? Me fuckin’ neither, man. You’re doin’ so fuckin’ great at earning this cocoa.”

“Have you been drinking again?” Mark asked, laughing, grateful Jack was a talker. The microwave beeped and he popped open the door.

Jack laughed. “Don’t you know? An Irishman’s blood is pure Guinness; I’m _always_ drunk.”

Mark laughed, carefully peeling the cling wrap from the steaming potatoes. “Seriously, though, you’re full of energy,” he said. “Not that it’s a bad thing. Just don’t know where it came from.”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “Maybe that Christmas spirit and shit you were smilin’ at earlier got into me, too.”

Mark kept his eyes on the counter, thinking about what he’d really been smiling about. He wondered if Jack knew, if he’d actually been being very obvious and Jack had seen through it all. One side of him hoped that wasn’t true, and the other almost wished for it because at least that first big, awkward part was out of the way.

Mark mumbled something about the holidays, then searched the refrigerator for butter.

Jack leant back and took a good look at the view of Mark's ass from where he studied the fridge. He raised an eyebrow, then went back to his cooking.

“You cool with butter and sour cream on your potato?” Mark asked.

“Just make it the best you can,” Jack said. “If it tastes good, put it on there.”

Mark chuckled. “Alrighty, then,” he said. “One Everything-That-Tastes-Good potato. Comin’ right up.”

Jack laughed, pulling down two mugs from the cabinet. Carefully, he poured hot chocolate into each one, managing to only dribble a bit of it, leaving sticky trails of chocolate and sugar down the sides.

“Here we are,” Jack said, picking up the mugs.

“But I haven’t proved my worth with baked potatoes yet,” Mark said.

Jack shrugged. “Let’s just say I trust you with ‘em.” He held out one of the mugs to him.

Mark took it, laughing at the print on the front. “You gave me the meme one!”

Jack giggled. “Whoopsie.”

Mark smiled and shook his head, then held his mug high. “Here’s to the best cocoa in the world. Apparently.”

Jack nodded and sipped at his, watching as Mark took a drink. “So?”

Mark licked his lips and grinned. “It’s pretty delicious,” he said, “but I’m not sure if it beats what I imagine your affection is like.”

“Is that so?” Jack asked. He sipped his cocoa smugly.

“Yes,” Mark said, “unless you count the free trial that you claim I have. In that case, yes, this is better.” He held the cup a touch higher. “But I imagine the upgraded version is far beyond anyone’s cocoa can substitute.”

“And you don’t think the un-upgraded version is pretty sweet? What with me lettin’ you sleep in my lap and all?” Jack took a drink with a smile.

Mark kept his grin as he set down his mug and returned to the counter. “I don’t know.” He began fixing up the potatoes. “I think that might’ve been the trial of the all-access stuff, the fifteen-day premium membership, just to let you know what you’re missing.”

Jack nodded as he placed his mug on the counter, then sat next to it. “And this ‘premium’, _upgraded_ version...” Jack picked his mug back up. “What’s included in that, do you imagine? Besides my world-famous hot chocolate.”

Mark laughed, opening the silverware drawer and pulling out two forks. “I don’t think I have the power to answer that,” he said. He handed Jack a fork and a plate. “But I do know _my_ premium affection includes kick-ass potatoes.”

Jack chuckled, setting down his cocoa to eat. “Let’s just let t’e Irishman be t’e judge’a t’at.”

Mark laughed and leant on the counter as they dug in. He eyed Jack as he took the first bite.

Jack hummed. “That’s pretty damn good,” he said, mouth full.

Mark nodded and said, “Not too hot, extra butter, microwaved, not baked.”

Jack laughed and shook his head, pushing Mark away by his shoulder.

Mark hoisted himself onto the counter, on the other side of the stove. They ate in silence for a few minutes, both hungrier than they had previously thought.

When Jack finished, he traded out his empty plate for his almost finished mug. He stole a glance at Mark, then another and another. Mark did the same as Jack when he was done, stretching to place his plate in the sink. He picked up the container of popcorn and read the back as he held his meme mug to his chest.

Jack took this opportunity to look at him for a while, try to get a read on him. Jack squinted. He couldn’t just outright ask if Mark was gay, no, that was not only rude, but invasive and out of the blue. That would be like admitting he was interested in him!

Jack shifted in spot and folded his arms. He considered texting Danny and asking him about Mark, since they seemed to know each other pretty well. With a sigh, Jack rid of the idea; he knew Danny wouldn’t be of any real help. He’d say something like, “ _Kiss him and see :^*,_ ” then not reply for the next hour, or worse, spam him with other things to do to get Mark’s attention.

Shaking his head, Jack hopped off the counter. He took his dishes to the sink and when he turned around, Mark was looking at him.

Jack leant back against the sink. There was that look again. He couldn’t pin what it meant, but he could recognize the slight smile and the way it was honey-coated at the edges, but somehow pained at the center of it. He wondered if the joy behind Mark’s eyes was from some kind of inside joke or musing to himself. Jack knew it wasn’t just Christmas spirit, but he doubted it was about himself.

“You, uh,” Jack said. “You ever had caramel corn?”

Mark grinned. “Yes, of course I have,” he laughed.

“Let me rephrase that,” Jack said with a smile. “Have you ever had _homemade_ caramel corn?”

Mark shook his head, smile in place. “I can’t say I have,” he said, “but I’m sure that’ll be changing in a minute.”

“You bet your ass it will,” Jack said, pushing off from the counter to gather the ingredients. “And you’ll never be able to have store-bought again.”

Mark laughed. “I don’t know if I should be excited or scared.”

“Scared, definitely,” Jack said, then smiled at him as he brought the ingredients to the counter next to the stove. He spread everything out, setting a container of popcorn and paper bag aside.

“What the hell do you need a paper bag for?” Mark laughed.

Jack pushed the bag and popcorn towards him. “Toss some popcorn in there, wrap it up tight, throw it in the microwave and see what happens.”

Mark’s jaw dropped as he picked up the bag. “Air-popped popcorn. That’s amazing! I can’t believe I’ve never thought of that. I’ve never even _heard_ of that.”

Jack shrugged, searching the drawers for the correct pan. “We never had a popcorn cooker, and Gramma was one clever old lady. Always had one more trick up her sleeve.” He hauled a pan onto the stove.

As Mark spooned kernels into the bag, he shook his head. “Was this her recipe?”

“Sure is,” Jack said, tossing the ingredients in. He chuckled. “The only recipe I think she had, actually.”

Mark placed the bag in the microwave and watched as it cooked. “Better than my grandmas; they didn’t have any recipes at all.”

“Really?” Jack asked, turning the dial on the stove. “Not even a little trick like that one?” He nodded to the microwave, then turned the oven on to preheat.

Mark shook his head. “Not unless you count putting ranch powder mix in a tub of sour cream to make dip.”

“Sounds good,” Jack said.

Mark shrugged it off. “It’s on the back of the packet.”

Jack laughed quietly to himself. The microwave beeped and Mark opened it, peeking into the bag excitedly.

“God, this looks--and _smells_ \--so good.” Mark shook the bag and reached in. He grabbed a handful of popcorn out and blew on them gently before having a few. “Oh, man. They are. They’re _so_ good.” He finished off his handful.

Jack grinned at him. “If you think that’s good,” he said, “just wait ‘til you try it with this caramel on top.”

Mark dug around for more. “Saying I’m excited would be an understatement.” He stuffed his mouth with another handful.

“Slow down,” Jack said. “Don’t be eatin’ it all before I can get to it.” He grabbed the cookie sheet from the dishrack beside the sink and placed it next to Mark. “Put all that popcorn on there and make another batch of it.”

Mark huffed and did as asked. While the popcorn popped, he watched Jack bring the caramel to a boil. The microwave went off and he poured the contents onto another cookie sheet, sneaking pieces when he thought Jack wasn’t looking.

“When’s that caramel gonna be done?” Mark asked, mouth full.

“Just a minute,” Jack said. He saw Mark going for more popcorn and smacked his hand away. “Stop eating all of it! I can’t make caramel corn with just caramel!”

“If the caramel’s ever gonna be done cooking...”

Jack shoved him playfully and turned the eye off. “See? It’s done.”

“ _Finally_ ,” Mark said, then watched as Jack poured the caramel over the popcorn and slid it in the oven.

Jack closed the oven door and brushed his hands together. “More cocoa while we wait?”

Mark said, “Sure,” then, “Wait, how long will that take?”

“About an hour,” Jack said, casually, opening the fridge.

Mark’s eyebrows lifted. “An hour?! I didn’t sign up for that.”

Jack laughed, pouring milk into the small pan from before.

“Seriously, Jack,” he said. “I want it _now._ How bad would it be if we just ate it straight off the pan?”

Jack laughed. “Not very bad. Just very sticky.”

“I don’t have a problem with sticky.”

Jack rolled his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote "I can't make caramel corn with just caramel!!" is from a prompt by @berrybird on tumblr!


	8. Naivety and Big, Hopeful Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for this chapter: brief discussion of biphobia

A warm silence hung in the air for a while, no pressure for either of them to say anything. Jack shrugged and straightened out his shirt, feeling the weight of conversation returning to his own shoulders nonetheless. So he began humming. Quietly, timidly, he hummed an old Christmas carol. Mark caught onto it quickly, singing the words softly beside him. Jack harmonized with the melody, humming the horns and strings behind the vocals. He poured hot cocoa into their mugs as they continued, and they hummed an instrumental part together, laughing as they imitated trumpets.

Jack lifted himself up onto the counter next to the stove and oven when they finished their tune. Mark followed suit on the other side of the kitchen next to the sink.

Letting out a sigh, Jack smiled and said into his drink, “You’re actually a really good singer.”

Mark shook his head and swallowed a gulp of cocoa. “That’s very kind of you to say,” he said, “but I respectfully disagree.”

“Well you’re no Michael Bublé,” Jack said with a cheeky smile, “but you come pretty damn close in my book.”

Mark waved him off again. “Get a new book or get your ears checked; I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”

Jack laughed. “You’re modest,” he said, “and that’s cute and all, but give yourself some credit.” Jack took a sip from his mug.

Mark shook his head and laughed, then leant back with an exhale of digression. His gaze gravitated to Jack, over his hands and arms and feet that bobbed in the air. The clothes he wore were un-patterned and comfy, covering a lean but not lanky body. His fingers tapped on the mug he held to a beat Mark couldn’t hear, his head lolling gently back and forth to the melody stuck in there. Gaze still on Jack’s ring-less hands, Mark wondered if he had ever worn one where his forefinger met his knuckle. Even though it was weak and easy, he wished he had his phone with him so he could message Danny and ask him. With a sigh, he set his mug down and tried to muster up the courage to either leave and retrieve his phone or ask Jack himself.

Then the smell of caramel seeped out of the oven and across the kitchen, like a sweet, golden ocean wave of sugar and goodness. Mark decided he was comfortable where he was.

“So,” Mark said, “you’re pretty good at the cooking thing. You’re, like, the ideal housewife.”

Jack laughed. “Thanks.” He sipped his cocoa. “I kinda was for a while.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, suppressing laughter. “Please, go on.”

Jack laughed softly. “About two years ago,” he said, “I was livin’ with this girl. I got off work before she did, y’know, because of school hours. So I cooked dinner pretty much every night. Hard not to get good at it after a while.”

“Well,” Mark said, “You’re definitely good at it.” He adjusted the mug in his hands. “So you just lived with her or...?”

“No,” Jack said. “Engaged. And, y’know, she was fine, _lovely_ , even. But...”

“Ooh, ‘but’,” Mark said with a cringe. “That sounds like a bad ‘but’.”

Jack nodded, biting his lip. “We lived together and everything, y'know, she had my ring on her finger, everything was great, then one day...” He took a breath, trying to contain his emotions. “One day, we were out and ran into an old boyfriend from college.”

“Oh, no,” Mark mumbled, wince in his expression.

“Not like that,” Jack said. “ _My_ boyfriend from college.”

Mark’s eyebrows lifted and stayed in their place.

Jack brushed his hair back and away from his face. “It really shouldn’t’ve been that bad. He was fine, I was fine, nothing weird happened, but, y’know, I could tell she was uncomfortable. So I said bye and we stepped to the side and I asked her what was wrong. And she started ramblin’ all this nonsense about not knowin’ that I was gay before, and I told her that I wasn’t gay _before_ , that I’m bisexual, and she tried tellin’ me that that didn’t exist, that I’d experimented and now I’m straight and blah, blah...” Jack waved the notions away. “I tried correcting her on it, and she just got redder in the face until she started shouting all these slurs and calling me unfaithful and she threw the ring in my face and left.” He shrugged.

“Oh, my God,” Mark said, hand covering his mouth. “That’s terrible, I’m so sorry.”

Jack waved it off. “Don’t be, I’m glad it happened. If she wouldn’t’ve thrown that fit, I would’ve married a biphobic _bitch_.”

Mark laughed, picking up his mug again. “Well, that’s certainly seeing the silver lining.”

Jack shrugged. “It’s just what it is. Doesn’t mean it still didn’t fuckin’ hurt, but it’s over now and I’m okay.”

Mark nodded. “That’s good. At least you got the ring back, right?”

Jack exhaled and widened his eyes, nodding. “Yup.” He ruffled his hair and rested his hand on the back of his neck. “What about you, then? Any crazy ex-wives? Biphobic close calls?”

Mark shook his head. “Nothing as wild as that,” he said.

“Doesn’t have to be wild,” Jack said. “Just tell me about your last escapade.”

Mark’s eyes widened for a second as he exhaled. “Escapade or relationship?”

Jack whooped, eyebrows high. “Escapade,” he answered, “that looks like a much better story, if your face says anything about it.” Jack smiled and slurped at his hot cocoa.

Mark nodded, running his fingers through his hair. “Another story for another time?” he asked, not wanting to get onto the subject of Danny in fear of Jack’s reaction.

“Okay,” Jack sighed. “Promise you’ll tell me later, though?”

“Sure,” Mark said, then took a long drink from his mug.

Jack put his mug down and settled into his spot on the counter. “So,” he folded his arms, “your last _relationship_...”

Mark shook his head and sighed. “I dunno.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s been so long since I quit dating that I can’t even remember. Is that sad or what?”

Jack smiled sympathetically. “Why’d you stop dating?”

Mark shrugged, shaking his head. He put his mug down and searched his memory. “Ah, I remember now,” he said after a moment. “I decided to live at the school to stop myself from dating and decided to stop dating because I live at the school.” He brushed imaginary dust off his hands. “Drama-free life.”

Jack chuckled. “I was gonna make a joke, but I did the same thing.” He scooted back on the counter. “Because my last ex, when she left, she wanted the apartment and I wanted away from her, so I took the job here.” He spread his arms. “And honestly, I don’t regret it for a second.”

Mark smiled at him, eyes sparkling with the reasons he said, “Me neither.”

Jack held up his mug. “To running away from relationship drama!”

Mark laughed as he repeated the words, holding his mug high before they took a drink.

After a pause, Jack said, “Seriously, though, nothing interesting about your last dating adventure? The one to end all ones? No ‘One That Got Away’?”

Mark looked down into his hot chocolate. He shook his head and said, “Nothing _real,_ nobody I thought I loved since...” He blinked, thinking back. “God, since right after college.”

“Wow,” Jack said, lifting his mug to his mouth. “And that was something special?”

Mark held eye contact with the floor. “I don’t know if it was. I mean, back then, it seemed like it, but now...” He looked up at Jack. “Now I think that that was naivety and big, hopeful eyes, y’know? We didn’t know anything and it was all kind of new, I guess. Since then, more beautiful boys have entered my life.”

Jack nodded. “I know what you mean.”

Mark nodded and sipped on his drink.

“I kinda miss that, though,” Jack said. “Dating. The rush of someone new, the ‘ _is that okay?_ ’, ‘ _was that their hand?_ ’.”

Mark nodded slowly. “But I also miss the _knowing_ someone part of it, where you know when to hold their hand and can tell how they’re feeling from a glance. Where you can kiss them and touch them and be around them and it’s _natural_.” He dropped his hand in his lap. “I miss that. Even if I’ve never really had it.”

Jack nodded. “I’ve had that. It’s good. It’s fantastic, actually. But it really fucking hurts when that’s ripped away from you.” He gripped his mug a bit tighter. “It makes you wary of finding it again at the same time it makes you want it more.”

Mark kept his gaze on his mug as he nodded.

The oven timer went off and Jack jumped down excitedly to crack open the oven. He laughed giddily, then grabbed a spatula and pushed the pieces of caramel corn around on the tray.

“Doesn’t that just look delicious?” Jack said, holding the door open wide. “It smells so good, too. That’s how you know it’s a good batch.”

Mark smiled. His chest swelled with that same somber affection as he watched Jack fuss over the popcorn. _Cute, cute, cute_ , eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he glanced over the tray.

It sunk in then just how deep he’d gotten into this infatuation with Jack. How much it actually _hurt_ to look at him, to not be able to hold him and kiss him and _be_ with him. He felt so fucking dumb, like the biggest and creepiest sap, but he couldn’t help it. The feelings had just happened, and he had sat back and watched them grow and fester, butterflies and heart eyes and flowers blossoming in his chest. He let himself wonder if and hope that Jack might feel the same, an unpromised notion of senses too high.

Mark leant over to take a glance into the oven through the window. “When are those gonna be done?”

“Another forty minutes or so,” Jack said.

Mark sighed heftily. “But that’s so far _away_.”

Jack laughed. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Mark groaned. “Why are you throwing that philosophical shit on me? I just want caramel corn!”

Jack laughed. “That’s how I fuckin’ feel about those cookies you made the other night. What are in those that make ‘em so addictive?”

Mark grinned. “Family secret.”

“Let me guess,” Jack said, “you would tell me, but then you’d have to kill me?”

“You guessed correctly,” Mark growled in the creepiest voice he could muster, then ended an evil laugh with a cough.

Jack laughed at him and shook his head, then peeked into the oven again.

“I’ll make some tomorrow,” Mark said. “Does that sound good?”

“I guess so...,” Jack pouted, then cracked a smile. “What are we gonna leave out for Santa, then, if not cookies?”

Mark furrowed his eyebrows. “We’re leaving stuff out for Santa?”

Jack shrugged. “I mean, yeah,” he said. “I was gonna leave out some Coke and maybe some caramel corn if we--and by ‘we’ I mean you--didn’t finish it all tonight.”

“Hey,” Mark said, “your caramel corn is to me as my cookies are to you.”

Jack folded his arms and sighed with digression, smiling despite himself.

Mark grinned at him, not caring that he was staring, not caring if he gave himself up with a look. He only cared about Jack, about his smile and passion and heart. And Mark realized (helplessly, hopelessly) that he wanted him to be happy, no matter what, even if it wasn’t with him, even as he knew that Jack could make him the happiest.

 

 

They stood in the kitchen while they waited for the caramel corn to finish, talking and joking until the timer went off. Jack watched as Mark had the first bite and laughed at his response (a long groan that was as hilarious as it was arousing). Jack put half of it away and threw the other half into a bowl to bring up to his room as a snack.

Once Jack was happy with the glass of Coca-Cola by the fireplace, he asked Mark if he’d care to join him in his room for a movie marathon. Mark agreed instantly, and they headed upstairs. When they were in the room, Jack straightened up his bed, then grabbed the bowl of popcorn and settled in.

“What do you wanna start with?” he asked, turning the small TV on with the remote.

Mark shrugged, still standing awkwardly in front of the door. Unlike Jack, he couldn’t just make himself comfortable in someone else’s room immediately. “It’s your room; you should pick.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “We’re doin’ Christmas movies. Pick something on a scale of incredibly cheesy to impossibly cliché.”

Mark laughed, then asked, “Have you ever seen _It’s a Wonderful Life_?”

Jack shook his head and his nose scrunched up slightly. “Isn’t that one the handbook for clichés?”

Mark shook his head. “That’s what I thought before I watched it, but, like, you know how it’s known as a Christmas movie?” Jack nodded. “The focus isn’t even Christmas. It’s not about Santa or material gifts. The climax just happens to be on Christmas.”

Jack nodded slowly. “Okay, sounds good. We’ll start with that one. Have it on DVD?”

“Yeah,” Mark said. “I actually watch it every year on Christmas Eve or Christmas anyways, so this is perfect.” He turned for the door.

“Grab any other festive films if you have ‘em,” Jack called after him.

When Mark was out of the room, Jack stood and retrieved his DVD magazine-type holder from under his bed. He picked the three Christmas films he owned out of their slots and placed them on his bedside table. The popcorn spilled out of the bowl as he sank back into the bed.

Mark knocked on the door a minute later, and Jack laughed.

“You don’t have to knock,” Jack said, then smiled at Mark as he entered.

He shrugged. “Just being polite.”

Jack sat forward on the bed. “What did you bring?”

“ _It’s a Wonderful Life_ , _Polar Express_ , and _Last Holiday_.” Mark held up his stack of discs.

“Good choices,” Jack said, standing. “ _Last Holiday_... Is that the one with Queen Latifah or Jack Black?”

“Queen Latifah,” Mark said. “The one you’re thinking about with Jack Black is just _Holiday_.”

Jack made a sound of recognition where he was knelt in front of the TV. He changed the auxiliary to display the DVD player’s input. Jack held his hand out and asked, “ _It’s a Wonderful Life_ first?”

Mark nodded and handed him the disc.

Jack took it and threw it in the player, then gathered the remotes before pulling his duvet off his bed. He sat all the way back on the mattress, back flush with the wall. Over the balled-up blanket, he waved Mark over.

“Get comfy,” he said.

Mark hesitantly sat on the bed, leaving a respective distance between them.

Jack unfurled the blanket over their legs, then grabbed the caramel corn from where he’d left it on the night stand. He skipped through the previews and smiled at the title screen. “Ready?” he asked, directing his grin at Mark.

He nodded and smiled back at him. He pulled a small pack of Kleenex out from his pocket and placed it in the space between them. “Just in case,” he said.

Jack furrowed his eyebrows at him and the pack as the movie started. He decided to take it as a joke and turned his attention back to the TV.

Halfway through the movie, as Jack had tears streaming down his face, he grabbed his pillow and beat Mark with it.

“It’s a fuckin’ _terrible_ life you piece of shit!” He threw the pillow back down and grabbed the pack of tissues. “A wonderful life my left asscheek.”

Mark laughed. “Just keep watching.”

Jack sniffled. “Fine. Fuck you.”

Mark laughed harder, then focused back on the TV as Clarence made his first physical appearance. They kept watching until the end, both weeping as the credits rolled.

“See?” Mark said. “It really _is_ a wonderful life.”

Jack scoffed and shoved him, laughing despite himself. He swung his pillow weakly at Mark, rubbing his eye with his other hand. Mark took the pillow from him.

“That fuckin’ sucked,” Jack said. “What a great film.”

Mark laughed, holding the pillow to his chest. “Didn’t I tell you?” He grabbed the last tissue from Jack’s lap. “What next?”

“I dunno.” Jack leant over to scan his DVDs. “I really wanna match the magnitude of pain that movie brought me, but all I have is, like, fuckin’ _Elf_.”

“Hey, _Elf_ is a great movie,” Mark chuckled.

“But did you cry at it? Didn’t think so.” Jack picked up a disc and stood to put it in the player. “You ever seen _Love Actually_?”

“I have,” Mark said with a grin.

“Fuck it,” Jack sighed. “Then fine, we’re watching _Edward Scissorhands_.”

Mark furrowed his eyebrows. “What? Why?”

“Technically,” Jack said, “ _technically_ , it’s a Christmas film because the climax is around Christmas.”

Mark laughed. “Awesome. I love this movie.”

“Me too,” Jack said, settling back into the bed. He sat directly next to Mark, completely ignoring the distance he had set up before.

Mark--in attempt to be casual--grabbed a handful of caramel corn and asked, “Um, how long is this movie marathon gonna be?”

Jack shrugged. “I dunno." He glanced at him with a teasing grin. "Got somewhere to be?”

Mark laughed. “No, just curious.” He gestured to where his DVDs lay with Jack’s. “I brought three movies, I didn’t know if we’d stop after this movie or...”

Jack shook his head. “We’re gonna watch movies until we run out or pass out.” He smiled at Mark. “If that’s okay with you. It’s happening whether you’re here or not.”

Mark laughed. “I’m game.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt I used for the idea of Mark showing Jack It's a Wonderful Life without warning is by @nadiahilker on tumblr!!


	9. Pancake-Lovin' Smile

They fell asleep before all the films had been watched and slept through the morning, wrapped haphazardly in the duvet. The midday sunlight fought its way into the room, filling the room with warmth and gold. The space heater Jack had in the corner worked its hardest but didn’t prevail, leaving the room nearly as cold as it was outside, despite how welcomingly the Sun shone.

Mark lay on his stomach, face buried in the pillow, startled awake by his own snoring. At first, he was only annoyed at himself, then was startled further awake by the realization that the bed he lay in wasn’t his own, and that he wasn’t alone in it. He lifted his head slightly and turned to find Jack still blessedly asleep, eyes gently shut and mouth pouty from the weight of his own head on the pillow. Jack had his arm strewn over Mark’s back, forearm aligned with his spine, softly curled hand nestled in the space between Mark’s shoulder blades.

Mark rested his head on the pillow again and let himself watch Jack as he slept. People weren’t supposed to look that angelic in the morning, were they? They were supposed to be crusty-eyed and bad-breathed, much like Mark would have to admit he was, if he were to guess. It dawned upon him that he should probably get up and at least use some mouthwash, especially since he hadn’t brushed his teeth the night before and, oh God, he had the worst eye boogers and bed head of his life, he just knew it. God hated him just that much. The one morning that it mattered... At the unconscious notice of Mark shifting away from him, Jack scooted closer to him, laying on top of Mark's shoulder and arm.

Mark turned his head back the other way and started rubbing his eyes furiously, trying to clear the corners of his eyes. He did it with such fervor that he managed to poke his own eye. Tears spilled down his cheeks, onto the pillowcase and all over his fingers. He kept on rubbing, knowing that it was pointless, maybe even making it worse.

“Love,” Jack mumbled from beside him. “Why’d’ya keep movin’ away?” He gently gripped the fabric of Mark’s shirt. “’M cold.”

He froze. He didn’t dare face Jack, not while uncontrolled tears still dripped from his eyes, not while that term of endearment still hung in the air. Merely, he scooted a tad closer to Jack, hoping that that would suffice.

Jack mumbled something incoherent, but seemed satisfied with Mark’s placement.

Mark sighed with relief. The corners of his eyes still burned, but he had stopped crying. As Jack sighed and fell deeper back into sleep, Mark wondered if Jack was still dreaming or if he thought Mark was someone else. With a decision that it was best to leave before Jack woke, Mark moved as gently and silently as he could from Jack’s grasp. He stood from the bed and tip-toed to the door. Exit in sight, hand on doorknob, he opened the creaky door.

Jack audibly stretched and inhaled consciousness. “Mark?” he asked, rubbing an eye.

Mark winced and turned to face him. “Shh, shh, no, go back to sleep.”

Jack groaned and pulled the duvet up to his chin. “Love, why’re you up so early?”

Although his heart pounded at the pet name, he calmly glanced at the clock on the wall. He laughed. “It’s ten fifty-six.”

“’S’too early,” Jack said, voice muffled by the blanket.

Mark laughed. “Ten is not early.” He went for the door again.

“Where’re you going?” he asked, eyes held tightly closed.

“I’m gonna go make breakfast,” Mark said, “since you’ve done it so much.” He smiled at Jack. “Go back to sleep.”

Jack grumbled and seemed to be asleep again, and Mark slipped into the hallway as quietly as he could.

 

 

When Jack woke, it was with a shiver and a full bladder. He rolled around in denial, then finally relented when his phone jumped on the nightstand. He grabbed his phone and found that Mark had texted him.

 _Any requests for breakfast?_ he’d sent. _If you’re even awake?_

Jack grinned and replied, _i dunno. what were u gonna make?_

Mark took a moment to type, _I was thinking pancakes... But caramel corn is an option, right?_

Jack laughed. _you have a problem :P_ He rubbed his eye and yawned as he checked the time. Quarter past eleven.

 _You gonna come down and help cook?_ Mark sent.

 _gotta make a pit stop first_ , Jack replied. _meet u downstairs_

_Coffee??_

Jack tilted his head back and forth. _put on the kettle. i’ll make us tea._

 _Okay_ , Mark said. _If I find that by the time you’re down._

Jack laughed. _you’re capable_.

_Suuuure_

Jack chuckled at his screen, then used his restroom, stopping to brush his teeth and comb his hair. He met Mark in the kitchen, where he was inspecting the counter space for the kettle.

“G’mornin’,” Jack said, stepping into the kitchen with a yawn.

“Good morning,” Mark said, words drawn out from the yawn he caught. “Dammit, Jack, no yawning.”

Jack yawned. “Sorry.”

Mark covered his face and held back another.

Jack laughed at him, then stretched, a few pops coming from his back and joints. Jokingly, he asked, “D’ya think Santa left us some presents?”

Mark laughed. “He probably thought this place was abandoned. If I were him, I’d certainly think so.”

Jack laughed. “Yeah.”

Mark opened a cabinet, then yawned and swore.

Jack laughed. “What happened?”

“I was thinking about you yawning before,” Mark said, “and it happened. Why?” He started yawning. “Whhyyyy?”

Jack kept laughing. “Stop it before you pass it on to me.” He playfully shoved Mark’s shoulder.

“Where in the hell is the kettle?” Mark asked as he opened the last of the kitchen cabinets, none of which he had closed.

Jack laughed and picked it up from where it sat next to the stove.

“Right in front of my nose!” Mark raised an arm and dropped it exasperatedly.

Jack put the kettle on to boil. “Happens to the best of us.” He turned and faced Mark, leaning back on the countertop. He furrowed his eyebrows at Mark’s smile.

“What’s up?” Mark asked.

“I think I should be askin’ you that,” Jack said. “What’s that... mischievous smile for?”

“Mischievous?” Mark asked. “I thought smiling was something gleeful.”

“No...” Jack folded his arms. “Definitely somethin’ deeper than that goin’ on here.” He gestured to Mark’s face.

“What, then?” Mark took a step closer. “Maybe I’m just damn excited about the pancakes I’m gonna make.”

Jack shook his head. “That is not a pancake-lovin’ smile.”

“And what does that look like, exactly?”

Jack laughed and pointed at him. “Not that.”

Mark laughed, head down. He took a few steps towards the kitchen door with his hand on his neck. “Hey,” he said, “do you wanna help me plug in all the lights in the living room?” He nodded towards the door. “For, y’know, festivity and whatnot.”

Jack squinted at him slightly, suspicion elevating. “Okay...”

Mark led Jack to the living room, trying and failing to hide his grin. All the lights were already set up, and the glass of cola on the fireplace was empty save a sip, beside it a note. Giving a confused and surprised glance to Mark, Jack made his way over.

The note on the fireplace was written in looping cursive on a plain sheet of printer paper. It read as so:

 

_Jack,_

_Thanks so much for the Coca-Cola--I wouldn’t’ve made it through the night without it!_

_For your trouble, I’ve left you a gift. I got your last-minute wish list from Mark (what a handsome fellow he is!) I wish you both a splendid Holitude!_

_Merry Christmas,_

_SC_

 

Jack looked to Mark, who shrugged and glanced at the floor then back up at him.

“Huh,” he said, “that’s funny that Santa came by.” Mark glanced to the same place in the floor by Jack’s feet. “Looks like he might’ve, uh...” he shrugged “...left you something.”

Jack glanced between the small box at his feet and Mark. He breathed his name and picked up the box. “You didn’t have to...”

Mark shrugged the notion away, holding his hands up. “Wasn’t me!” he said. “It was Santa.”

Jack gave him a disbelieving look, then set his gaze back to the small Amazon box tied up with ribbon. Upon inspection, he found nothing other than the fact that it was light and the tag on it was addressed to him.

“Well, are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna open it?” Mark raised his eyebrows at him, then gestured to the couch.

Jack seated himself hesitantly, Mark sitting anxiously on the other end.

He began to untie the ribbon. “If this is really nice,” Jack said, “I’m gonna feel like an asshole. No, scratch that. I already do.”

“That’s not the point of gifts,” Mark said. “Santa does this kind of shit every year and no one sends him thank-you cards.”

Jack paused, hands ready to pry open the box’s flaps. “I did.”

Mark’s expression turned soft and adoring, and he pursed his lips trying to hold back an ‘aw’. “That’s adorable,” he said.

“Shut up,” Jack chuckled.

When Mark could contain his giggles, he shifted his gaze to the box and nodded to it. “Well...”

Jack let out a breath. “Okay.” He pulled open the cardboard, revealing a small stuffed unicorn with a ribbon tied around its neck. Eyebrows furrowed, he picked up the pristinely white plushie. His gaze fell to the coffee table then to Mark, and that’s when he remembered.

 

_“What about you, then?” Mark asked. “What do you want to see under the tree?”_

_“God, I don’t fuckin’ know,” he said, making Mark stifle a laugh. “A fuckin’ unicorn.”_

_Mark laughed. “Perfect,” he said flatly. “What a personal and in-depth answer. I really feel like I know you.”_

_Jack scoffed and nudged Mark’s leg with his sock-clad foot. “Shut up.”_

 

And Mark had remembered.

A grin spread across Jack’s face. He pulled Mark into a hug, thanking him. “I love it,” he said, finally pulling away. He looked down at the thing in his hands, chubby from being stuffed to maximum capacity. “I love it so fucking much. Thank you. I cannot _believe_ you remembered that.”

Mark shrugged. “Not a big deal.”

“’Not a big deal’?” Jack gave him an incredulous look. “You got me this fuckin’ thoughtful as hell thing, set up all this Santa shit, and I got you fuckin’ nothing.”

“Hey, you made caramel corn.”

“That’s not the same and you know it.”

Mark sighed and smiled. “Just the fact that you like it is gift enough for me.”

Jack smiled briefly and tilted his head. “You’re so sweet,” he said, “but that’s not enough for me.” He stood from the couch, unicorn in tow.

“Where are you going?” Mark turned to watch Jack storm to the kitchen.

Jack reached the front door and grabbed a coat. “I’m gonna fuckin’... I dunno. Do something.” He peered through the frosted glass at the top of the door.

Mark followed him into the kitchen, stopping behind him. “You’re worrying too much about this.” He placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Please don’t go; it’s cold outside.”

Jack glanced back at him, smiled, and opened the door. “Baby...” He looked out the open door. “It’s snowing outside.”

Mark blinked at the splay of white before him and laughed.

“What?” Jack asked with a glance to him.

Mark shook his head. “It’s just that... This was what I wanted for Christmas.” He gestured out to the thin layer of ice flakes on the ground. “Snow.”

Jack smiled. “Yeah, I remember that.” He turned his gaze back to the precipitation. “That’s why, uh, I asked Santa to, uh, make it snow. For you.”

Mark laughed. “ _Really_?”

“You’re not the only one who can play the Santa card, mister,” Jack said. He shared a look with Mark and laughed.

When they ceased, their expressions hardened. Mark squinted his eyes. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked, nodding slightly to the snow.

Jack grinned slowly. “Maybe...”

Before anything else could be said, Mark grabbed a coat and ran outside, Jack following shortly after. Mark picked up a handful of snow and chucked it at Jack as quickly and as hard as he could. It landed more than a yard away from his target. He shouted curses as Jack laughed at him. He picked up his own handful and threw it, hitting Mark’s chest perfectly.

Mark shouted, “Oh, it’s on!” and picked up and armful of snow, running for Jack when he’d gathered it.

Jack merely laughed at him, realizing too late how fast Mark was sprinting to get to him. Covering his head, he shouted profanities and braced for impact.

Mark slung the armful of snow at him, then laughed at how it stuck to Jack’s hair. He laughed with him, fluffing the snowflakes off his head. When he knelt to form another snowball, Mark bolted and tried to find shelter, but Jack was too quick. He threw snowball after snowball, most missing as Mark dodged them ungracefully.

Jack bent over and laughed at him, only stopping when a snowball hit his shoulder.

He looked up slowly to find Mark grinning triumphantly, another snowball held at the ready.

Jack took advantage of his stance so close to the ground, grabbing a fistful of snow and hurling it at Mark. It impacted perfectly in the center of his abdomen.

Mark gasped in mock surprise, then fell to the ground dramatically, as if suffering from a gunshot wound. His pre-made snowball fell from his hand, shattering and dissipating when it hit the ground. Jack was by his side soon, and then they lay in the snow. Mark waved his arms and legs in the snow, Jack following suit shortly after, making twin snow angels.

They stopped after a minute, catching their breath and watching as it came out in puffs of steam. Jack’s lungs hurt from over-exertion and the cold, but he couldn’t care any less. Pieces of snow stuck to their hair, and their clothes contained melted patches of it. They shared a gaze, smiling, panting, as happy as they could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!!
> 
> The unicorn gift idea came from @berrybird on tumblr's prompt!!


	10. Pine Tree Day

Something in Jack’s coat pocket started buzzing. It confused him, but didn’t make his smile falter for a second. As he pulled out an unfamiliar phone, he realized that the jacket he wore was not his, but Mark’s. Without thinking, he sat up and answered it.

“Hello,” Jack said into the receiver.

Mark’s smile had dropped when he heard the ringtone, and he now scrambled to get the phone from Jack’s grip. But he saw Mark’s movement and began walking as the caller spoke.

“Uh, hi,” they said. “Mark?”

“Nope, sorry, Mark can’t get to his phone at the moment.” Jack had walked away from their snow angels, and now ran from Mark. “Can I take a message?” He laughed as Mark stumbled behind him.

“Um, yeah, uh,” the caller said. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

“This is the Jackaboy,” he said, turning a sharp curve in hopes of losing Mark. All he lost was his balance, and then he was tasting the snow.

Mark dove for his phone and checked the caller ID when it was in his hand. “Hey, sorry,” he said into the receiver. “That was just, um...” He tried desperately to catch his breath. “Hi, Tom. How’s the wife?”

Jack rolled onto his back, laughing breathlessly. He couldn’t hear what the caller was saying, only Mark’s panted attempts to explain the chase.

“My, uh, my friend teacher, my teacher friend, Jack, he, um...” Mark exhaled. “Yes, _that_ Jack. Would you-- Fucking hell, Tom, no. No, I...” He sighed. “Not on _Christmas_ , Jesus Christ. We had a snowball fight.”

Jack stood, then offered Mark his hand. He took it and they headed back to the teachers’ hall. Mark headed straight to his room, presumably to finish his phone call and change out of the wet and cold clothes. Jack did the same in his room, after he removed the screaming kettle from the stove.

When he returned downstairs, clad in his best sweater, Mark still wasn’t down. Jack decided to go ahead and start breakfast, beginning with the tea. He laughed as he filled it back up; all the water from the first attempt had boiled out.

As he stood and waited for the skillet to heat, he glanced over the kitchen. He spotted the little unicorn laying by the door and went and picked it up, smiling as he walked back to the stove with it. The unicorn was seated on the counter as he cooked, blankly staring at the room. Jack pet its head and wondered if/what he should name it.

Jack sipped his tea and watched the bacon sizzle and pop in the pan, the aroma making pirouettes across the heated kitchen. He thought to himself that the sweater he wore wasn’t really necessary, especially as the tea warmed him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It fit so nice on him, and it had softened from being washed countless times.

Mark padded down the stairs and was handed his tea when he entered the kitchen. He exhaled at the stove. “You started cooking without me?”

Jack shrugged. “Just getting a head start.” He turned back to the stove and shook the bacon around. “Thought we could snack on this while we cooked the rest.”

Mark smiled slightly and blew on his tea. He said, “That’s a good idea; I would’ve eaten it straight away anyways.”

Jack laughed and adjusted the dial for the eye he was using. “You were upstairs for a while.”

“Yeah,” Mark breathed. “My mom called right after Tom hung up. She would not stop talking about the palm trees in Florida.” They laughed.

“So,” Jack said, “are you just gonna stand there and look pretty or are you gonna help me with breakfast?”

“I can multitask,” Mark said. “Being pretty _while_ I cook is a talent of mine.”

Jack laughed. “Okay, okay. You start whippin’ up batter, I’ll man the bacon.”

“Great,” Mark said, “pancakes it is.” He grabbed a big bowl from the cabinet and gathered the ingredients from the fridge. As he mixed up the batter, he glanced at Jack. “How’d you sleep last night?”

Jack shrugged. “Pretty good.” He furrowed his eyebrows as he thought about the night. “Did you go to your room in the middle of the night? Or do I just not remember you leaving?”

Mark looked deep into his bowl, feeling like his face could cook the batter. “Yeah, I got up early.” He grabbed a pan from the drying rack by the sink. “Do you, um...” He shook his head.

Jack raised an eyebrow at him. “Do I what?”

Mark exhaled. “Nothing, nothing. Just...” He met Jack’s gaze. “You were, uh, saying stuff this morning, you seemed pretty out of it. Just wanted to know if you remember it.”

Jack winced slightly. “Yeah, I, uh, I’ve been told I do some serious sleep talking.” He looked back to the stove. “Whatever it was, I’m sorry. I don’t have any idea what I was saying.”

Mark shook his head, pouring more milk into the batter. “Just, uh, nonsense. Mumbling and asking where I was going.”

“Alright.” Jack shrugged. “Glad it wasn’t too weird.” He pulled his skillet off the eye. “All the bacon’s cooked. How can I help with the pancakes?”

Mark held a hand up. “No help needed.” He waved him away and stepped up to the stove. “You just sit back, relax, and drink your tea.”

“Okay, sounds good to me.” Jack grabbed his mug and sat at the kitchen table after grabbing a couple strips of bacon. He watched Mark pour batter into the pan carefully, then let his eyes travel a little south. He tilted his head. “At least I got a nice view from over here.”

“Hm?” Mark asked with a glance over his shoulder. “Can’t hear ya over this amazing pancakage.”

Jack flicked his gaze up to meet Mark’s. “Ah, nothing, nothing. Just talkin’ to myself.” He picked his phone up and unlocked it. “Let me know if you need any help over there.”

Mark waved him off, eyes trained on the pancakes.

They both remained silent until Mark finished cooking. He brought the overflowing plate of pancakes to the table and sat down with peanut butter and syrup.

“That smells like heaven,” Jack said, putting his phone down to grab a plate.

“Thank you, thank you, I know,” Mark said as he spread peanut butter onto a pancake.

Jack smothered his plate with syrup before digging in. Mark looked on as Jack took his first bite.

“Omm. Mm. _Gmm_ ,” Jack said, mouth full, closing his eyes as he chewed. “How the fuck is this the old Aunt Jemima that’s been stuck in the back of the fridge for the past year?”

Mark wiggled his fingers. “Magic.”

Jack laughed. “Seriously, though.”

Mark exhaled. “Okay. But I’m only telling you this because I trust you.”

Jack leaned in to listen, mouth full.

“The secret ingredient is cinnamon,” he said. “Adding just a dash brings all the flavor out. Oh, and if you let the batter sit for a minute, it rises and makes it fluffier. And butter instead of oil when you cook ‘em.”

“Of course,” Jack said. “Who cooks pancakes with oil?”

Mark leant back in his chair. “You’d be surprised.”

Jack shook his head and they continued their breakfast, Jack’s phone buzzing every few seconds.

Gesturing to the phone, Mark asked, “Danny again?”

Jack shook his head. “People wishin’ happy Christmases. The whole time you were cookin’ I was answerin’ people and I still didn’t finish.”

“Jesus,” Mark said. “How many people do you know?”

“More than I thought I did, I guess,” Jack chuckled.

Mark glanced over the countertops and table. “Well, in that case, I oughtta go and get my phone.” He stood. “Left it in my room.”

Jack nodded, watching as he left (watching his ass). He tilted his head.

 

 

Mark found his phone to be filled to the brim with texts with two missed calls tucked away in the notifications. He sighed and sat down at his desk, deciding to answer a few while he was in his dorm.

The two missed calls were from Wade, and he discovered that he had five texts from him as well.

****

**_ 12:38 PM _ **

_Heya Mark! Merry pine tree day_

_I hope you didn’t go through with that Santa stunt you told me about!!_

**_ 12:50 PM _ **

_Haha um Mark pls_

**_[missed call from Wade at 1:01 PM]_ **

**_ 1:17 PM _ **

_You fucking idiot I bet you’re doing that as I type_

**_[missed call from Wade at 1:21 PM]_ **

**_ 1:36 PM _ **

_Don’t even have the courtesy to AT LEAST text me a merry xmas. FOR SHAME_

 

Mark scoffed and typed a reply. _Merry Christmas, asshole,_ he sent, then, _Whats so bad abt the unicorn?_ He stepped into the hallway as Wade’s reply was delivered.

_I just rolled my eyes so hard it hurt_

_Hurts so good_ , Mark replied with a chuckle at his own joke.

_Seriously????  
_

Mark trotted down the stairs and laughed.

 _Do I really have to lay it out for you?_ Wade sent. _That gift is like flat out telling him that you’re in love with him!_

Mark paused on the last step. _You don’t really think that, do you?_

 _UH. YEAH_ , Wade said. _I can’t believe you actually did that and thought you could get away with it._

 _Well things still seem normal here,_ Mark sent, leaning on the wall, _So either you’re wrong or he doesn’t know yet_

_Trust me, man. He’ll find out._

Mark sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. _Then what the hell do I do_

Jack padded up the stairs then. “Oh, hey,” he said with a smile.

Mark looked up from his phone, surprised. He held his phone to his chest. “Hi.”

“Sorry, you’ve just been up here for a while,” Jack said, “and I’m about to start preparin’ some food for dinner. Thought I’d check on you and see if you wanted to help.”

“Um.” Mark looked down at his phone, at the message Wade had sent.

_Tell him before he figures it out on his own._

Mark sighed, closing his eyes for a brief second. The thought of telling Jack and the notion of him already knowing made his insides feel like over-kneaded dough. But the other side of that coin was being able to hold him and taste his skin and _know_ him.

Mark clicked the power button, effectively locking the phone.

He smiled at Jack. “What’re we making?”

 

 

Mark didn’t last long in the kitchen. The conversation he’d had with Wade hung heavy around him, and Jack could feel it in the air. He told Mark that he could handle cooking and Mark retreated to his room without argument.

Once everything was set to roast in the oven, Jack sat at the kitchen table with a sigh. He wondered what had gotten into Mark, what had happened upstairs, because he had seemed fine before then. Even as it was irrational, Jack hoped it wasn’t because of something he had done.

He sighed and stood. Going for a walk would do him some good, he decided. A bit of solitude and cold wind was sure to clear his head. So he grabbed his coat and went for a walk around campus.

The air didn’t bite like he thought it would, for that he was grateful. It was just cold enough to keep the snow on the ground, just enough chill in his bones to keep his mind from drifting. The winter Sun had nearly set, but the clouds forbid it from painting the sky with pastels. Jack smiled as he saw the trails his and Mark’s feet had left in the snow, how they had ruined their snow angels.

For a while, he walked aimlessly, mind still trying to clear itself. He passed the boys’ dorms, then neared the mess hall. He realized too late that he had left his phone back in the teachers’ hall, but he wasn’t going to turn back now.

The expanses of the campus weren’t as eerie as they had been at the beginning of the week. Perhaps it was because he had grown used to it being empty, maybe it was because he knew now that he wasn’t alone and he felt like he knew the person he was alone with.

And then he stood in front of the auditorium, at the foot of the stairs. He let out a laugh, a puff of steam. Somehow his feet had known the perfect place to take him.

He climbed the stairs and pulled at the doors only to find them locked. “Of fucking course,” he breathed. He closed his eyes for a moment and touched his forehead to the icy door.

Jack stepped away and down the stairs a few before sitting down. He leant on the railing and looked up to the sky, head finally cleared of minor messes and irrational stresses. The issue at hand was presented to him, and he had left himself with the singular option of looking it in the eye.

The question wasn’t whether he liked Mark; he knew he did. The question was what he would do about it. He knew that all the options boiled down to two: Either tell him or don’t.

Jack shook his head. His insides lurched at the thought of either. Of being rejected or being with him, of being alone if he didn’t even try.

Jack ran his hands through his hair as it began to snow. All this uncertainty was making him miserable.

And the kick in the pants was that _he liked being miserable_. The anxiety and the pain was welcome because _that’s what falling in love felt like_. And he hadn’t felt that in so long, hadn’t been so sick over someone like this since he first fell in love with his ex-fiancée.

He thought over his options with a sigh and selfishly wished that they’d have the campus to themselves forever. He closed his eyes. Every time he found himself at this point, ready to fall in love again, there was always something obstructing his path...


	11. Soaked and Frozen

After a distressed call to Jack’s phone, Mark found it laying on the kitchen table. He groaned at it and ran his fingers through his hair, beyond worried at that point. After he’d come back downstairs to check on Jack and the food, he’d found the kitchen empty. Then, he’d searched the whole hall, growing more and more distraught.

He now stood in the kitchen, holding Jack’s phone. The roast was safely in the oven, cans and ingredients next to the stove, ready to be prepared. The unicorn Mark had given him watched over the kitchen, and he looked at it with miserable eyes. It stared at the door, and Mark followed its gaze. He noticed Jack’s coat was missing from the rack.

Then, he was out in the snow. He treaded over the snow angels and across the campus grounds. He didn’t feel the cold, didn’t care that he wasn’t wearing shoes. He only cared that it was nearly dark and that Jack had left without his phone.

He found footprints in the snow and followed them as it began to sprinkle snowflakes again. The footprints led to the auditorium, Mark found, and Jack was sitting on the steps out front.

The breath of relief he allowed himself was not enjoyed for long. Jack’s eyes were closed, and he was leant on the railing.

Mark said his name and let out his breath when Jack opened his eyes.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Mark?” he asked, sitting up. “What’re you--Are you--?” Jack stood. “Mark! You’re not wearing shoes!”

“I was worried about you,” he said. “I-I found your phone.” He waved it meekly.

Jack shook his head, hands on his hips. The smile he gave him was incredulous and confused, gaze unfaltering from Mark’s.

And as Mark stood in the snow, a phone in each hand, socks soaked and frozen, he knew what he had to do.

 

 

“I need to talk to you,” he said.

Jack furrowed his eyebrows. “Well, it can wait, mister!” he said with a laugh. “You’re gonna lose a toe if you’re out here much longer!” He descended the rest of the stairs.

“It really can’t,” Mark said.

Jack’s smile dropped, replaced with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asked as Mark pulled him down to sit on the stairs with him.

Mark kept his eyes down. “I... I need you to just hear me out for a second.”

“Okay...”

Mark gulped. “I...” He closed his eyes and exhaled. “I really, really... reallyreallyreallyreally like you.” He opened an eye to see Jack’s reaction. “And I can’t take it anymore. I’m head-over-fucking-heels, can’t sleep, can’t stop thinking about you. And...”

Jack sighed his name.

“And I’d love to be with you,” he said. “If you give me a chance. Let’s give it a shot.”

Jack took his hands. “I’d love to, too,” he said, “but...”

“What ‘but’?” Mark said. “No ‘but’.”

“ _But_...” Jack held his gaze. “The school board doesn’t allow teachers to date, _especially_ those who live on campus together. I’d love to, but it’s impossible.”

Mark let out a breath, closing his eyes. The cold began to set in on him, gripping him and confirming his worst worries.

He shook his head, thinking of all the time they’d spent together. They’d be happy together, he knew. They might even be perfect for each other, and he couldn’t stand the thought of not knowing if they were. “What if...” He exhaled. “What if we have a free trial.”

“What?” Jack asked.

“The, um, free premium trial,” Mark said. “Of your, um, of my...” He searched for the right words. “Look, we have the whole weekend and week left alone, no one’s gonna be here 'til at least New Year's...” He shrugged. “Let’s do something.”

Jack’s eyebrows were furrowed so hard that he was squinting. “Let’s do what, now?”

“Let’s have a free premium trial,” Mark said. “Let’s skip all those first stages of a relationship and-and just get to the good stuff. The cuddling and the up all night talking and the stand behind you while you cook. Let’s date for the week, have the best time we can, no strings attached come the end of winter break. We’ll hide it away like the decorations we put up.”

Jack looked away and shook his head. “I dunno...”

Mark did his best to keep eye contact, heart going a mile a minute. “We both want this to happen.” He shook their hands. “There’s no administrators here to tell us not to, there’s no kids to see, no evidence.”

At Jack’s silence, Mark bowed his head, preparing himself for the answer he was sure to get.

“...Fuck it,” Jack said. “Okay. Let’s do that.”

Mark smiled at him. “Really?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah. Sounds pretty damn perfect.”

“Great!” Mark beamed. “Where do we start?”

“We start with getting you the fuck home!”

 

Once they were back in the teachers’ hall, Jack fussed over Mark, insisting that he take a hot shower to battle any hypothermia that might have set in. Mark laughed but went along with it, telling Jack that he was a biology teacher and would know if he had hypothermia.

“I don’t fucking care,” Jack said as he opened the door to Mark’s dorm room. “I can see that you’re shakin' and shiverin'. You’re takin’ a hot shower and that’s the end of that.”

Mark stood defiantly in the doorway to his bathroom, folding his arms. “And what gives you the authority to make me t-take a shower?” he asked, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Well,” Jack said, “I’m your boyfriend now.” He opened the shower stall door and turned on the water. “And I say, get in the shower before your toes freeze off from those damn soaked socks.”

Mark didn’t move, save the corner of his mouth lifting. “What if I like the c-cold socks?”

Jack scoffed. “You don’t like the cold socks,” he said. “Stop being stubborn and take them off.”

“Ooh, undressing in f-front of each other,” he said, leaning on the wall. “I thought that was supposed to be s-saved for a later p-p-part of the relationship.”

“Hey,” Jack said as steam filled the room, “you’re the one who wanted to jump into the middle of a relationship and ran out into the snow without shoes on to ask me, but if you can’t handle showing me your feet...”

“No, I’m j-just worried you won’t be able to t-take the sheer s-sexiness of it.” He pulled off the socks and tossed them down.

“Ooh,” Jack said dryly. “Feet. Too much. Sexy.”

Mark laughed and Jack joined him.

“Now will you get rid of the rest of your wet clothes and shower?” Jack asked, gesturing to the source of steam in the room.

“Why sh-should I?” Mark asked. “Are you g-g-gonna make me?”

Jack sighed at him. “Mark, you’re shivering. Please?”

Mark relented with a sigh because a hot shower did sound really good. “Fine, fine.” He went to unzip the jacket he wore (which Jack had zipped up on the walk home), but had trouble gripping the zipper. His hands shook too much.

“Um...,” he said. “C-Can you get the zipper for me?” He kept his gaze down, embarrassed.

Jack smiled. “Of course, love.” He stepped closer and undid the button at the neck, then unzipped the jacket. His heart quickened at the close proximity, at how Mark was looking at him. He pushed the jacket off his shoulders.

Everything about Jack’s face said ‘ _kiss me_ ,’ and who was Mark to refuse? He felt Jack's hands on his sides, trailing gently, flirtatiously to his hips. Mark took a step closer, heart jumping out of his chest. He placed a hand on Jack’s cheek and leant in slowly. Jack held his breath. There was a millisecond of hesitation, a drumroll, anticipation and nerves keeping air from their lungs. Then, it was happening (and happening and happening and happening). Jack sighed into the kiss, soaking it up like sunshine after being stuck on a dark cave. Mind incapable of thoughts, body reacting to Jack's of its own accord, Mark had barely processed what happened when Jack pulled away. Eyes still closed, he caught his breath and rested his forehead on Mark’s.

"Damn," he said. "You're good at that."

Mark pecked him on the cheek, just on the side of his mouth. Jack gave him a kiss, then another and another, then pulled away.

“Enjoy your shower,” he said, then left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank you all for the love on this fic!! It really encourages me and makes my week to see people enjoying this!! And thanks to anyone who just reads, as well; it means the world ^.^
> 
> Updates will be every Thursday from now on, as long as I can help it (^_^')


	12. Extreme Cuddling

Jack had walked calmly out of the room, closed the door behind him, then bolted down the stairs. He made it to his bedroom, shut the door behind him and leaned on it.

He smiled.

Jack replayed it in his head, imagining Mark’s body, his chest and his arms. How it fit against him, how he had held Jack so tenderly, like he was something precious. Jack wasn’t delicate by any means, but compared to Mark, he was definitely weaker. They were the same height, but Mark was stockier. Thick where it counted and soft around the edges.

And the skin that encased him... Jack loved the color of it. Like sunshine through honey, not tan but not pale. Jack was sure that in the summer he’d get a nice tan, something that would make his skin glow like his smile did.

Jack’s mind wandered to the pieces of Mark that wouldn’t be affected by the Sun. The spots that would make him sigh and gasp and moan if touched just right. The idea of him in that hot shower, steam curling around him like Jack could’ve only wished of doing just an hour ago. Now, it was practically his reality. He’d kissed him already. The moment that taunted him was just within reach.

Jack lay on the bed with a sigh, praying for the patience to wait.

 

 

That had been the absolute best kiss of Mark’s _life_. He didn’t stop thinking about it--he couldn’t. There was so much to be relived, so many details he didn’t want to lose. Like the scent of Jack’s cologne and the cold still on his clothes, the way his hands were placed so carefully on him. How he pulled away, then hesitated before going back in. Teased him. After the kiss, he didn’t feel like he needed a shower anymore; the blush he wore had taken care of the cold.

But, of course, he showered. He stayed in there until the water got cold.

 

 

Downstairs, Jack was starting dinner to distract himself. He ate caramel corn and talked to his plushie unicorn (which he had named Cornelius (Corny for short)).

“He bought you,” Jack said as he added butter to a pan. “You stayed in his room, were part of his plan; you oughtta know him.” He gave the plush a glance. “How soon do you think he’ll give it up?”

Cornelius stared on, pretending not to hear him.

“I mean,” he said, stirring another pot, “I’m not gonna force myself on him, but, y’know, we’re technically boyfriends now. And he’s a guy. He’s gotta be thinkin’ about it, too, right?” He turned the dial of the eye up. “I wonder if he’ll kiss me like that again.” He popped some caramel corn in his mouth. “Y’know, some people say that the first one is the tell-all, like, how that kiss goes is how all the kisses will go. Other people say that the first one’s good because it’s a new person and that the magic you feel is bullshit.” He glanced at Corny. “But it was perfect. Like, _real_ perfect. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before, like, like...” Jack looked down and sighed at himself. “I must be fuckin’ crazy about this guy; I’m talkin’ to a unicorn.”

He went back to cooking in silence, pouring himself tea when the kettle whistled. He worked too hard and too fast, he realized, as everything was either finished or set to simmer. With a sigh, he sat at the kitchen table and drank his tea. Cornelius stared at him.

Jack pulled out his phone and opened it. Surprisingly, he hadn’t told anyone about what had happened with Mark (besides Corny). The only person he’d really want to tell would be his sister or Danny. It was too late to call his sister, he knew. Ireland was hours ahead of him, and even though it was early for dinner where he was, it was much past dark where she was.

So that left Danny.

Jack opened his messenger and tapped on Dan’s name. The keyboard appeared.

With a scrunch of his nose, Jack set his phone down. He didn’t know why, but it felt like Danny shouldn’t know about it. Jack hadn’t even told him about Cornelius.

Maybe it was leftover anxieties from yesterday morning, when Mark had been rambling about Dan. Jack had never been the jealous type, not really. It was just... odd. And maybe that wasn’t Mark’s fault, or even Dan’s. Jack had to admit that Danny was a handsome man, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him the slightest bit insecure. To think that Danny could have anyone, anytime he wanted. All he had to do was say the word. Hell, Jack wasn’t above that charm, either. He knew he’d have said yes to him any day. But now...

He didn’t think of anyone like that but Mark. Yes, Dan was alluring and sexy as all hell, but Mark was the sky and the moon to him. No star was brighter, no energy stronger.

“Damn,” Mark said, stepping into the kitchen, making Jack jump. _Speak of the devil..._

“What?” Jack asked.

“I just, I could smell the food and...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I dunno.”

“What, do you not like what I’m cookin’?” Jack asked, standing.

“No, I’m sure it’s delicious,” Mark said.

Jack went over to the stove. “Then, what is it, love?”

“I just thought you were here,” Mark said, “so I could do this.” He stood behind Jack and wrapped his arms around him.

Jack leaned into his touch. “Oh,” he smiled. “That’s sweet.”

Mark rested his chin on Jack’s shoulder. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this,” he said. “And this.” He kissed his neck. “And this.” He pecked the spot just behind his ear.

Jack shivered and closed his eyes for a second. “Love,” he said, “you’re drivin’ me mad, you know that?”

“Here I was thinking that’s a good thing.” He kissed his neck where it met his shoulder.

Jack scrunched his shoulders up and giggled. “Okay, that one tickled.”

Mark chuckled and let go of him. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Jack said, glancing at him with a grin.

Mark wondered how inappropriate it would be to kiss him. He wondered if Jack would shy away if he stroked his cheek, if he would jump at his touch.

Jack glanced at him again and his smile changed. It went from suspicion to recognition to soft and blissful.

“What’s that smile for?” Mark asked.

“Your smile,” he said, turning and placing his hands on Mark’s waist. “I finally know what it means.”

“Really?” Mark stroked his cheek. “Tell me. Maybe you’re wrong.”

“It means you wanna kiss me,” Jack said. “And I know I’m right.”

Mark laughed and looked down. “Damn... Does that mean I don’t get to?”

Jack shook his head. “If you were paying attention, you’d see this is my ‘shut up and kiss me’ smile.”

Mark smiled and held Jack’s face in his hands. “Noted.”

Their noses had barely brushed when a kitchen timer went off. Mark jumped at the noise and Jack laughed at him.

“You’re mean,” Mark said, smiling despite himself.

“No, you’re just a scaredy cat,” Jack cooed. He turned away from Mark to check the oven.

“What’s cookin’?” Mark asked.

Jack stood and described what was in each little pot on the stove, what all he had put into the roast in the oven.

“And when will all that be done?” Mark asked.

“Another half hour or so,” Jack said.

Mark pouted. “But I’m hungry _now_... Why does everything you cook take forever?”

Jack laughed and wrapped his arms around Mark’s neck. “Surely we can come up with something to pass the time.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “I have a few things in mind...”

“Really, now?” Jack asked. “Like what?”

Mark hummed and leaned in close. “Cuddling,” Mark said. “Extreme cuddling.”

Jack laughed. “What makes it extreme? Do we listen to heavy metal?”

Mark grinned. “Whatever works for you.”

“Well, okay, then,” Jack said with a nod. “Lead the way.”

Mark ducked into the living room and sat on the stiff couch. Jack stood in front of him and folded his arms.

“What?” Mark asked.

“You’re not in a proper cuddling position,” he said.

Mark laughed. “’Proper’?”

“Yes, proper.” Jack grabbed Mark’s ankles and dragged them onto the couch so that he was lying down.

Mark laughed. “What are you doing?” he asked, then, “Sorry, of course; you’re getting me into cuddling position.”

“Damn right I am.” Jack waved towards Mark and into the couch. “Now scoot. Make room.”

Mark did as he was told, cornering himself into the cushions. “Okay, so, just a heads up,” he said, “I haven’t exactly cuddled with anyone in almost a decade, so bear with me.”

“That’s okay,” Jack said, taking a seat on the edge of the couch. “Wait, a decade?”

Mark nodded, lips pursed. “Last time I cuddled, I was... twenty-three. And now I’m, what, thirty-one? _Thirty-one._ Holy shit _._ ” He brought his shocked gaze back to Jack. “I’m olllld.”

Jack laughed. “Thirty-one’s not old,” he said. “At least I hope it’s not. I’m nearly that age.” He leant back into the couch and Mark’s chest, using his arm as a pillow.

“Really?” Mark asked.

Jack nodded. “In February.”

“That’s close, then.” Mark adjusted (or attempted to adjust from where he was wedged into the cushions) to get a better angle for conversation.

Jack shrugged. “I guess. It’ll be here before I know it.” He shifted in his spot, trying to get his shoulder in a place that wouldn’t hurt Mark and his legs in a place that was actually on the couch.

“Jesus, your feet are cold,” Mark said, pulling his legs away from Jack’s.

Jack giggled. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, just startled me.” Mark shuffled in his spot again, the arm under Jack’s head beginning to go tingly.

“Sorry, didn’t even ask if I could use you as a pillow,” Jack said. He placed a hand on Mark’s bicep. “Do you want your arm back?”

Mark laughed. “No, I’m okay. As long as you’re comfy.”

Jack nodded and asked, “You know what?”

“Hm?”

“I’m not.”

Mark exhaled. “Thank God.” He freed his arm and held it out and above them, flexing his hand.

Jack sat up. “This couch is just terrible.”

Mark nodded. “Sorry.”

Jack smiled down at him. “It’s not your fault the school got a cheap-ass couch for the teachers’ hall.”

“No,” Mark said, “sorry for making you try to cuddle with me, the worst cuddler ever.”

Jack laughed. “That wasn’t cuddling,” he said. “We’ll go up to my room tonight and have a proper snuggle, alright? On a nice, big, comfy twin-size mattress.”

Mark grinned. “Sounds lovely.”

Jack returned the smile and stood. “I’m gonna go check on dinner.”

“Okay,” Mark said, standing with him. “I’ll come with you; I don’t wanna miss my favorite cooking show.”

 

 

They stood around and chatted until dinner was ready. Mark was sneaking food before he even got to the table, and Jack could only giggle at him. When dinner was finished, they put the leftovers away, then did the dishes together. Jack washed and Mark rinsed. Once, when Mark was rinsing off a spoon, the water splashed onto Jack. In return, Jack threw some bubbles at him, to which Mark only responded to with more water. They kept on like this until they were sick with laughter and soaking wet.

Jack let out a final laugh at the bubbles on Mark’s head. He brushed them off.

Mark chuckled a thanks and grabbed a dish towel. He dried off his arms, then his face, then rubbed it over the top of Jack’s head. Jack took the towel from him and tried to press the water out of his shirt. Mark gripped the end of the towel and pulled him close.

“You look cute when you’re soaked,” Mark said.

Jack laughed and shook his head. “Is that why you started a water fight?”

Mark shrugged and grinned, pulling Jack closer by hands on his hips. “No, that’s just a bonus. And technically, you started it.”

Jack shook his head, suppressing a smile. “We, um...” He glanced away, then back up at Mark. “We really oughtta change out of these wet clothes.”

“Is that an invitation?” Mark purred.

Jack couldn’t help himself. “Maybe...” He glanced at the sink. “If you clean up all this water and swear off water fights, I might consider it.”

“Okay, okay,” Mark said. “I’ll try to behave.”


	13. Space Heater

After the kitchen was dry and they were changed, they stayed in their separate dorms. Jack hadn’t checked on him or been waiting in Mark’s room, and Mark was too tired to summon up the energy to flirt more. All that had happened that day--the snowball fight, the frostbite walk and hot shower afterward, _the kiss_ \--was starting to take its toll on him.

Even still, he lay awake in his bed. His body was tired, but his mind was not.

He thought of Jack. Sweet Jack. How he laughed loud and how he looked in the morning, how his accent thickened when tipsy.

He thought of how ( _incredibly_ ) right Wade had been, and how Danny must’ve known. Mark paused at the thought of Dan. Before winter break, he’d always felt a twinge of something when he was mentioned, always recalled their time together and would let himself miss it for a second. But now, he just saw Dan, fellow teacher. Dan, _friend_ , nothing more or less. And at that moment, he couldn’t even remember what his kiss felt like. He didn’t want to.

Mark let himself miss his family and other friends with a sigh. He thought of his mother and brother, hoping they’d had a happy day today. His heart broke for the millionth time over not being able to be with them.

His tired eyes swept the room, the ceiling and walls, minimal furniture and clutter. The fairy lights across his headboard casted a warm, purple glow that barely reached the corners of the room. Mark closed his eyes. His dreams were the same color.

 

 

At seven o’clock, Jack decided to check on Mark. After finding the kitchen empty, he climbed the stairs to Mark’s room. He knocked gently on the door, and when he didn’t get an answer, he let himself in. Upon the sight of Mark sleeping, he smiled and retreated.

Back in his dorm, Jack got out his laptop and typed up a bit of a syllabus for the next semester. He didn’t normally plan very meticulously for his classes. He preferred to interact with his students and have open discussions about the books and subjects they were focused on. It helped them with the work, he’d found, if they had a deeper connection to it.

So, after he’d jotted down notes of books and test dates, he set his work aside. He turned on his TV and watched infomercials until he could see them on the backs of his eyelids. He laughed to himself as he mouthed along to the slogans. When the commercial changed from frying pans to a lawnmower, he turned it off. He put on some music and lay in bed.

All that played were melancholy, heart-broken tunes. The Smiths and The Front Bottoms and other moody jams. Jack kept skipping them. He wanted to feel the swoon and happy heartache that getting together with Mark was, the sappy, falling-in-love stuff. But all he was getting was the reality of it, the dead-end tunnel ahead, the cutoff at the end of the week.

He briefly thought that it might be a premonition, then the song he’d been hoping for came on.

 _It isn’t like this is real love,_ he thought to himself, closing his eyes, _my life isn’t a romantic comedy. This is just insanity cloaked with loneliness; I’ll wake up soon enough._

 

 

Jack was awoken by the sound of his door opening, and Mark stumbling into his room. His brow furrowed and the corners of his mouth turned down. He grumbled, “The fuck?”

Mark winced and stood. “Sorry, sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I mean, not like that, anyway...”

Jack shook his head and sat up. “Love,” he said, rubbing his eye, “what’s going on?”

“I just, um.” Mark rubbed the back of his neck. “I just wanted to borrow... you.”

Jack squinted at Mark’s silhouette. “Me?”

“I mean, uh, I wanted to borrow you, um, _your_ space heater.” He cringed at himself. “Please? It just... got cold. In my room.”

Jack squinted at him, then shook his head at his lap and laughed. “You want me to come be your space heater?”

“Well, to put it simply...” Mark lifted his shoulders. “Yes.”

Jack grinned at him. “You just had to ask.”

 

 

After grabbing his space heater, Jack had followed Mark to his room. They slept in his bed together, with the heater on the nightstand.

Jack woke first. He grumbled and lifted his head from his position of laying on his stomach. He blinked until his eyes focused.

A sleeping Mark lay before him, a sight of pure beauty and serenity. His breath was deep, the sound almost resembling snoring. His hair fell over his eyes and the pillow, unruly and of its own mind. The combination reminded Jack of a lion, warm and gentle, but with an underlying notion that he would eat you if you woke him.

Jack glanced over the bed, over Mark’s body and his own. He decided he liked sharing this bed with him. The coziness, the feeling of security. It felt like he was still sleeping, like this was a dream he never wanted to wake from. He looked back at Mark with a smile and finally noticed their hands on the pillow.

Jack furrowed his eyebrows. They were... holding hands? Mark must’ve grabbed his hand in the middle of the night and they had stayed that way.

He smiled as wide as his face could hold and lay down happily. He laughed once to himself, closing his eyes. This was _so_ a dream. He nearly drifted off again, but was brought back to the surface when he felt Mark squeeze his hand.

He opened an eye to see Mark smiling at him, and he returned the grin.

“You look so pretty in the morning,” Mark said. He stretched and squeezed Jack’s hand. “Howww?”

“You should ask yourself that,” Jack replied. He lifted Mark’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. “You’re gorgeous like a God, like something people can only write about because it’s too beautiful for reality.”

“Jesus, Jack,” Mark said. “It’s first thing in the morning. You can’t be trying to out-flirt me already.”

Jack laughed. “Too late.” He kissed his hand again. “You know I’m just going to win, anyways.”

Mark shook his head, smiling. “It’s too early for me to win.”

“Well, you won the handsome part of this relationship for sure,” Jack grinned.

“But that’s just in life anyways.” Mark grinned at him. “I’m always the handsomest.”

Jack shook his head and laughed. “Cocky little shit.”

Mark laughed with him, then excused himself to the bathroom. Once he was in, Jack snuck down to his room to freshen up as quickly as he could. When he returned to the room, Mark was back in the bed, fingers laced in his lap, smiling at Jack’s entrance.

“Hey, baby.” He waved him over.

“’Baby’?” Jack asked as he slid under the covers. “That’s a new one.”

Mark shrugged. “I’m trying it out. Do you like it?”

Jack grabbed his hand with a smile. “I love it.”

Mark returned the grin and leant back into the wall. “I’m glad. It’s just gonna take a bit to get used to it. The good kind of ‘get used to it’.”

Jack smiled and nodded, fiddling with Mark’s hand. _Just wish we had more than a bit,_ he thought to himself. He tapped each of Mark’s fingertips with his thumb and traced the lines in his palm, then held his hand flat between both of his.

“So,” Mark said, “do you want breakfast?”

Jack shrugged. “Kinda don’t wanna get out of bed.”

Mark sighed. “ _Good_.”

Jack giggled. “So, we’re having our own bed-in?”

Mark laughed. “Sure.” He directed his smile at Jack. “What are we protesting?”

Jack hummed and squinted into the distance. “The notion that we need to leave this bed.”

Mark chuckled. “I like it.” He shifted down in the bed to lay down. Jack followed suit.

“Hey... Mark?” Jack said.

He turned his head to face him and rested their hands on his chest. “Hm?”

All the words he wanted to say, all the doubt and questions about the week before them caught in his throat. He knew they needed to be addressed, but... Mark looked so sleepy and so beautiful, and Jack couldn’t even summon up the guts to tell him he was falling in love. He made the decision to bury logic, to expel the thought of answers. All that truly mattered was in front of him, and what swelled in his chest when he looked at him. They didn’t need to talk. Not right now. Not when Mark looked at him like he was the stars in the sky, like he’d waited his whole life to lay in this bed.

Jack bit the inside of his lip. “Permission to cuddle?”

Mark grinned. “Permission granted,” he replied, opening his arms. Jack rested his head on his chest and draped an arm over his torso.

Jack thought to himself, _Ugly reality disappears when you have beauty in your arms._

 

 

Mark was over the moon. The entire morning, he lay in bed with Jack, he held his hand, he snuggled with him and talked about nothing. He thought to himself that this must be what it’s like to be in a movie, to be in a Hallmark commercial.

Around noon, when Jack was using Mark as a bed more than the mattress, he kissed Mark’s neck to get his attention.

“Mm, what was that for?” Mark asked with the raise of an eyebrow.

“What d’ya got for food around here?” Jack asked.

Mark laughed. “Do you want me to go cook us lunch?”

“Nooo,” Jack whined, rolling out of his arms. “I wanna stay in bed.”

“Then I’ll go cook and you stay in bed,” Mark said, sitting up.

“No.” Jack gripped his shirt gently. “I want you to stay here, too.”

“Well,” Mark laughed, “that’s quite the predicament you’ve put me in.”

“Don’t you just have old caramel corn around here or something?” Jack glanced around the room.

“Now that you mention it, I think I have some granola bars in my desk...”

Jack leant out of the bed and reached for the desk. “Which drawer?”

Mark laughed and directed him to the middle drawer.

Jack pulled out two boxes. “Well, I would say jackpot, but...” He turned the first box upside down. “One of them’s empty.”

Mark laughed. “Sorry.”

Jack shook his head as he opened the other box. “This is actually my favorite flavor this brand makes,” he said.

“Really?” Mark snuck one when the box was open. “Mine, too. Nearly made myself sick of them.”

Jack hummed in acknowledgement, mouth full. “Me, too.” He moved the box to the night stand.

Mark leant over and grabbed the remote, then turned on the television for background noise. It played an old sitcom with poor quality and worse jokes. The signal hitched every now and then.

As Jack finished off his granola bar, he got a shiver. Mark raised an eyebrow at him.

“You cold?” he asked.

Jack nodded. “That heater’s a piece of shit.”

“Here,” Mark said. He stuffed the rest of the bar in his mouth and climbed out of the bed.

“No, Mark, what are you doing?” Jack asked.

Mark opened his closet and flipped through it until he found what he was looking for. He tossed a thick knit sweater at Jack.

“I’m fine, really,” Jack said, picking up the sweater despite his protest. He held it up to view it. “Mark, did you see how fuckin’ big this is?”

Mark grinned and climbed back into bed. “Yeah, it’s big on me.”

Jack scoffed and rolled his eyes at Mark.

“I thought it’d look cute on you,” he said. He nudged the garment towards him. “C’mon, humor me.”

Jack frowned and pulled it on. “Only because it’s soft.”

Mark smiled at him, endeared affection in his eyes. “You’re so cute, I could just eat you up.”

“Why don’t you?” Jack asked with a confident, flirty grin.

“Not like that,” Mark groaned, earning a giggle out of Jack.

They lay back down, facing each other, hands piled on together between them.

“Did that granola bar fill you up?” Mark asked.

“For now,” Jack said, tugging the corners of his mouth down.

“Good,” Mark said. “Because it only made me hungrier.”

Jack laughed. “Do you want me to hand you the box?”

“No, I can get it,” Mark replied, sitting up slightly.

“No, I’m closer, I’ll just hand it to you,” Jack said, rolling and reaching for it.

“It’s my room, Jack, let me get my own granola bar.”

Jack glanced back at him mischievously, fingertips inches from the box.

Mark tugged on the sweater, trying to reel him in. “Just, c’mon, move out of the way.” He reached for the box again and again, Jack swatting his hands away every time. “C’mon, Jack, this isn’t a game. Move.” Jack gripped his arms and pushed him away, laughing. “Stop it!” Mark was blocked again and again, halfway laying on top of Jack. “Move!”

Through his breathless laughter, inches from Mark’s face, Jack said, “Make me.”

Mark stopped for a moment, then scooped Jack up in his arms. He rolled him to the other side of the bed, then hovered over him with a triumphant “Ha!”

His smile faded as he caught his breath. Jack swallowed, glancing at his mouth. He leant up and Mark met him halfway.


	14. Rosewater Utterances

Mark kissed him like he was tasting the great beyond. Like all the time in the world was theirs, like it would be the last kiss of his life. He drank the moment up and swore to himself that he’d never let Jack go.

He rolled onto his back and pulled Jack over him, chuckling at the noise of surprise he made. He rested one hand on the back of Jack’s neck and the other on the small of his back under the sweater and his shirt. Jack straddled him lazily, a hand on either side of Mark’s face.

Upon the feeling of something stiff and oblong against his hip, Jack pulled away and grinned. “Is that _your_ granola bar I feel or am I just flattering myself?”

Mark furrowed his eyebrows, then caught on. “Oh, uh, no." He reached under the sheet, “That’s just the remote.”

Jack laughed and slid off Mark. “Whoops,” he said, laughing self-deprecatingly.

Mark laughed with him. “Did you just call it my ‘granola bar’?”

Jack scrunched up his nose and closed an eye. “Yeah? It was the first thing that came to my mind. Sorry.”

“No, no, it was funny,” Mark said, turning on his side to face him. “That would explain your hunger, right?”

“My favorite flavor.” Jack pecked Mark’s lips, then sat up. He pulled off the sweater, mumbling about being too hot.

“Ooh,” Mark said, “a strip show.”

Jack laughed and threw the sweater to the end of the bed.

Mark tugged at the hem of Jack’s t-shirt. “Take this one off, too.”

“But then I’ll be cold again,” Jack said.

“Not if we keep doing what made you warm.”

Jack laughed, ears heating up. “Fine. But only if you take something off, too.” He whipped off his t-shirt.

Mark soaked up the sight before him, eyebrows lifting slightly and pupils dilating. He blinked and shook his head. “Sorry, what?”

“You gotta take something off, too, pervert,” Jack laughed, playfully backhanding his arm.

Mark laughed. “Sorry, uh... You pick.”

"Hmm..." Jack lay back down, facing Mark. "Pants.”

Mark furrowed his eyebrows. “But you can’t see that part.”

“Yeah...” Jack said. “But it’ll make it easier for..." He grinned and winked. "Later.”

Mark’s eyes widened, a blush rising to his cheeks. “Really?”

Jack bit his lip, trying (and failing) to hold back a smile. He shook his head. “Just wanted to see you blush.”

Mark rolled his eyes and laughed. “Fuck you.” He tugged his pajama bottoms off and pulled them out from under the covers. “There.”

Jack grabbed them, balled them up, and threw them off the bed. “Won’t be needing those anytime soon.”

Mark rolled his eyes and pulled Jack closer by hands on his waist. “Stop saying stuff you don’t mean.”

Jack raised an eyebrow and gave him an enticing grin. “Who said I didn’t mean it?”

“ _Jesus_.”

 

 

They sat in the bed, duvet wrapped around them as Mark flipped through the channels on his TV. He skipped from news stations to bizarre PBS specials, weeding through old movies and sitcoms. Mark flipped past a commercial and jumped when Jack started shouting.

“Wait, wait!” Jack grabbed the remote and changed the channel back. “You have to see this frying pan!”

Mark furrowed his eyebrows and laughed. “What the hell...?”

“I saw the infomercial last night!” Jack said, then chanted the slogan with the ‘crowd’ of the commercial’s set.

Mark laughed. “What the hell?”

“No, seriously, look at this,” Jack said, pointing to the TV. “Nothing sticks to it! It’s practically magic!”

“You sound like the spokesperson,” Mark chuckled.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Laugh all you want now, but when I get this set of frying pans, including the free-gift-plus-shipping-and-handling that is a pasta rack, I’m not sharing.”

Mark shook his head as his laughter dissipated.

Jack grinned at him. “You wouldn’t be laughing if you knew just how much you were missing out on by not owning this cookware. I mean, look at this guy--he’s practically ready to have this pot’s babies.” Mark shook the entire bed with his laughter. “And look at that egg! It glides around the pan like it’s a UFO!”

Mark threw his head back and laughed after watching the egg.

“Look, look! Here’s the pasta rack! Look at how it just fucking lifts the noodles out, no mess, no fuss. Look how upset that lady is about all her wasted pasta. That’s gonna be you, mister!”

“Oh, God,” Mark said. He leaned into Jack, trying to catch some air. “My stomach hurts.”

Jack laughed. “That’s what it feels like cooking with a regular non-stick pan.”

Mark let out final giggles, forehead resting on Jack’s shoulder. “That’s what it feels like when you eat eggs that are also UFOs.”

Jack laughed and rested his head on Mark’s. “Not if I’m the one cooking them.”

Mark hummed a laugh. “Don’t make me hungry.”

 

 

The evening rolled in, and quickly, the television’s light overpowered the Sun’s. The pillows were strewn about the room and the duvet was crumpled into the space between the bed and wall. Mark lay sideways on the bed, legs stretched out on the wall like he was sitting horizontally. Jack used Mark’s tummy as a pillow, fingers laced over his own stomach, Mark’s hand resting on his still bare chest.

“What’s your family like?” Jack asked.

Mark furrowed his brow at him, then back at the ceiling. “Normal, I suppose. Don’t have anything to compare it to. Why?”

Jack shrugged. “I just wanna hear about it.” He fiddled with Mark’s hand. “Tell me about your parents. And you have a brother, right? I wanna hear about them.”

“Okay,” Mark said. “My mother is nice. Kind of an attention hog, but as a shy child, I was okay with that. My dad was nice as well. A good man. My brother is older than me, and he’s an artist, always has been, always has rubbed it in my face.”

Jack laughed. “Sounds like a good childhood.”

Mark shrugged. “It was. Quiet, but good.” He wiggled his fingers, interrupting Jack’s fiddling. “What about you?”

“What _about_ me?”

“What about your childhood?” Mark asked. “What was your family like?”

“Fine,” Jack said.

“Just fine? You’re not getting away with that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, _tell me_ about your family,” Mark said. “Your parents, your siblings. What was your favorite toy?”

“My favorite toy was books,” Jack said. “I read them, then tried to build forts.”

“That’s adorable,” Mark giggled. “But you’re not off the hook.”

Jack sighed, wringing his hands. “There’s not much to tell.”

“I don’t care.” Mark placed his hand over Jack’s, effectively stopping his fidgeting. “I want to hear all about it. Every detail.”

Jack sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I was the youngest of five. Two boys, two girls, then me. The only one that really babied me--including my parents--was the oldest sister, the third born. I don’t remember it, but my other sister and my parents tell me she wouldn’t let anyone else hold me.”

Mark laughed. “That’s sweet.”

With a smile, Jack continued. “Yeah, it was that way until she moved out. Then the babying ended. My sister, the one still in the house, she treated me like a regular human instead of a baby, which was oddly amazing. She read me fucking college-level books to try and get me to go to sleep,” he laughed, “but I just kept asking what all the words meant.”

Mark hummed a laugh. “So you’ve always been a word nerd.”

“Hey, who’re you callin’ ‘nerd’, Mr. Biology Teacher?”

Mark laughed. “Okay, okay, touché.”

Jack gripped Mark’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “You happy now?”

Mark grinned and released himself from Jack’s grip to stroke his cheek. “Very.”

Jack leaned into his touch, closing his eyes. “Tell me a story.”

Mark gave him a confused smile. “What kind of story?”

“An embarrassing story,” Jack said. “About your brother.”

“Tom?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah. Or an embarrassing story about you. You pick.”

“So, when Tom was a kid...”

Jack laughed.

“What?” Mark asked.

“You picked Tom waayy too quickly,” he laughed.

“That’s because I have more stories about him,” Mark said.

“No, I don’t think that’s why,” Jack laughed. “Now I wanna hear one about you.”

“Only if you tell me one about you,” Mark said.

“Deal,” Jack said. “You first.”

“Okay,” Mark said. “Just give me a second to remember one of mine.” Mark pursed his lips and squinted at the ceiling.

“Translation: Let me think of the least embarrassing one.”

“Shut up,” Mark laughed.

Jack chuckled an apology, then was silent.

“So, when I was a teenager,” Mark began, “maybe fifteen, sixteen, I didn’t know I was gay yet, and I was gonna ask this girl out. I went up to her at her locker, right? And I was feeling pretty confident, y’know, because I was wearing these new hand-me-down pants that were Tom’s. They were dark, nice jeans that had this little rip in the knee that I thought was really cool for some reason. They were big on me, though, and I didn’t have a belt. But I wore them anyway, because, _damn_ , I was so cool with my rip in the knee.” Mark let himself laugh. “So, I went up to the girl--I was really shy back then--I went up to her and said, ‘So, um hi, um,’” Mark rung his hands and softened his voice, “‘my name is Mark and I think you’re really pretty and nice and, um, will you go out with me?’” He let his arms fall, self-deprecating smile on his lips. “And I could see it working on her, y’know, my nerdy charm winning her over, and then... My pants gave out. They dropped around my ankles, and there was this terrible second of silence. She looked down at them, looked at me, turned around, and left. I tried to run away and pull my pants up at the same time, but it just was not happening. Everyone in the hall had seen the whole thing and started laughing at me. I was crying from embarrassment at that point, trying to wipe away my tears and pull up my pants and, of course, the cherry on top of the cake, I tripped and fell.”

Jack bit his lips, failing to hold back his giggles. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t be laughing.”

“No, it’s okay,” Mark said with a grin. “It’s funny. Not funny for tiny Mark, but funny in retrospect.”

“Oh, God,” Jack laughed. “I’m so sorry. That’s hilarious.”

Mark laughed. “Okay, okay, your turn.”

“Okay,” Jack said, letting out final giggles. “Okay, okay.” He shook his head and exhaled. “So, a little while ago, I had this crush.”

Mark laughed. “How old were you?” he asked.

“It was pretty recent,” Jack said. “And I was mad about this guy. I was around him every day and I couldn’t have him and it was killing me. And I was sure I was doing everything right, I flirted, I cooked for him, but he still hadn’t a clue. A part of me was trying desperately, the side that cooked and wore nicer clothes, while the other side battled viciously, insistent on being subtle. Because, I dunno. I’m kind of an emotional masochist; I like being in pain when it comes to love.”

Mark laughed. “Yikes. Noted.”

“I said _emotional_. Don’t get too excited.” Jack laughed. “What I mean is it’s a good kind of hurt; it lets me know if it’s my heart or my dick talking. And my heart _soared_ for this guy. He was everything I didn’t even let myself _dream_ of.”

Mark grinned. “You trying to make me jealous?”

“Save all your questions for the end,” Jack said. “One day, I had made breakfast for the dream guy. _God,_ he was handsome. Sexy, too.”

Mark elbowed him, chuckling. “Get on with the story, asshat.”

“Only if you shut up,” Jack giggled. “So, I went and I told him that I was done cooking. He was all smiles and gorgeous and as I left, I called him ‘love’. I ran off, blushing. I thought I’d blown it. Out of sheer embarrassment, I took my food and hid in my room. But of course, the guy, the sweetheart he was, he went to find me and saw my plate and I was nearly sick with embarrassment. I shut the door on him.”

Mark grinned, finally caught up. “And where is this ‘dream guy’ now?”

Jack shrugged, then turned and looked at Mark through his eyelashes. “Nowhere special. Just my boyfriend now.”

“Sounds pretty special to me,” Mark said.

“He is in my book,” Jack grinned.

“You’re so sweet.” Mark stroked his cheek and held back a stream of sappy confessions and rosewater utterances. “But, I’m not sure that counts, since I already know that one.”

“But I told it better than it was the first time, huh?” Jack asked with a confident grin.

“I suppose so,” Mark said, blush creeping up his neck at the remembrance of all the ways Jack had described him. “At least I learned that you have a pain kink.”

Jack laughed and sat up. “I am not a masochist!” He glanced at Mark’s legs on the wall and laughed. “I forgot you weren’t wearing pants.”

“Well, that was the deal, wasn’t it?” Mark hoisted himself off the wall to sit vertically again.

“Yeah, I just,” Jack shrugged, “I guess I got used to it.”

“I understand,” Mark said. “I could get used to seeing you shirtless all the time.” He leant over and pecked his cheek.

Jack hummed, closing his eyes. “Wish I could say the same...” He bit his lip and tugged at the hem of Mark’s shirt.

“No fair,” Mark grinned. “I don’t get anything in return?”

“I’ll trade you.”

“Deal,” Mark said, then sealed it with a kiss.

“But I get to take it off you this time,” Jack said.

“Okay,” Mark said, trying to not seem as eager as he was. “I am okay with this.”

Jack laughed and kissed him (and kissed him and kissed him), then tugged the shirt off. He didn’t even open his eyes. He went back in.

Mark pulled away to smile at him, eyes half-lidded with a blissful happiness. “Have I told you how much I love kissing you?”

Jack grinned and shifted in the bed. “No, but please, do go on.”

Mark laughed. “Okay...” He squinted into the mid-distance. “Kissing you is like a dream. No, scratch that, not a dream, less cheesy than that, uh...” He looked down at his hands. “It’s like everything I’ve ever wanted in a kiss, and then some. Like a dream, but better because it’s real. A _fantasy_ come true. I never wanna stop.” He rested his hand on the side of Jack’s face and stroked his cheek with his thumb, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“What makes you think we should?” Jack reeled him in and pecked his lips. “And ditto to all that. You kiss like it’s the end of the world, like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. It’s delectable.” He planted another on him.

Mark smiled into it. “And you kiss like you’ll never stop.”

“That’s because I never want to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! There are only a couple chapters left, and they're quite a doozy!


	15. Succulent

Jack was the first to wake. He crept out of the bed and down to the kitchen, where he realized he had no eggs to make breakfast-in-bed with. So, he grabbed his phone, wallet and jacket and left a note on the counter in case Mark woke. Bundled up, he took a brisk walk to the curb outside the campus gates and rode a taxi to the supermarket. His phone buzzed in his pocket as he entered.

**_danny :^* Would like to FaceTime_ **

Brow furrowed, Jack accepted the call. “Hey, man,” he said when Dan’s face loaded on his screen.

“Hey!” Danny said, holding the screen close to his face, a habit Jack had long since given up on trying to break. “Good to see you, man. How are you?” Dan squinted at his screen. “Are you in the supermarket?”

“Yeah, I am, I...” Jack glanced over the produce section, then squinted an eye at his phone. “Why are you calling?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

Dan shrugged. “Just, haven’t heard from you in a couple days, thought I’d check in. It’s unsettling when people don’t answer texts.”

Jack winced at himself, remembering how he had forgotten his phone in his room while he spent the previous day with Mark. “Yeah, sorry. Was busy these past couple days.”

“Oh, right, my bad,” Dan said. “I forgot about all the activities you had planned out for your abandoned self on the deserted campus. All that breathing and sitting you had to catch up on. Unless...” He gasped for effect, touching his index finger to his bottom lip. “Did something finally happen with Mark?”

Jack bit the inside of his bottom lip. He leaned into the phone, glancing around. “...Listen, Dan, I’m kinda in the middle of the grocery store--”

Dan gasped, genuinely this time. “You did get together with him! Ah! I knew it!”

Jack winced and turned his volume down. “Christ, calm down. Don’t announce it to the whole of Winn Dixie.”

Dan lowered his voice, but didn’t apologize. “When? Oh, my God, you hooked up, didn’t you? When?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “How was he?”

“Good Lord, we haven’t...!” Jack looked around, his cheeks burning as a mother and her children stared. He whispered, “We haven’t gotten that far yet, you horny bastard.”

“ _When?_ ” Dan asked, unphased. “And where and how and _why in fuck’s name haven’t you told me?_ ”

“Because,” Jack said, escaping to the empty cereal aisle. “Because A; I knew you’d react like this, you over-excitable shit, and B; well...” He held his shoulders high and exhaled. “I dunno. It feels... private. Precious. Telling people is like letting it out, making it what it isn’t, _making it the wet dream it turns into when I tell you_.”

“Hey, man, you know I’m just teasing,” Dan said. “And since when have I been just ‘people’ to you?”

“You’re not,” Jack said. “It’s-It’s just been weird here. The only thing that seems real recently is Mark, and I’m not even sure of that at the moment. He’s ethereal. He’s otherworldy.”

“Wait ‘til you get in bed with him,” Dan grinned, leaning back in his seat. “ _That’s_ an otherworldly experience.”

“Shut your whore mouth,” Jack laughed. “It’s not like that yet.”

The corners of Dan’s mouth turned down. “Sounds boring,” he said.

“It’s not.” Jack picked up a cereal boxing and inspected it wistfully. “It’s romantic. Refreshing. We spent the whole day in bed yesterday just... holding each other and flirting and kissing each other until we were raw. It was like being a teenager all over again, but without the awkwardness; what we have is like the innocence of first love and the... _familiarity_ of a married couple.”

“So...” Danny’s eyebrows were furrowed, and now he raised one. “There’s no heat?”

Jack bit his lip and dropped the box in his cart, eyebrows lifting. “Oh, there’s heat,” he said with a glance to his phone. “Copious, _dangerous_ amounts of heat, just... all under the surface. That’s part of what makes it like high school.”

“Oof, sounds painful,” Dan said, nose scrunched. “You know, you hurt your equipment if you don’t use it when it’s called upon.”

Jack exhaled and rolled his eyes, partially exasperated. “It’s hot _because_ we haven’t done anything. It keeps it, I dunno... It keeps it innocent and pure. What we have, it’s not hormones and spit and sweat. It’s something deeper, something... better. If you saw the way he looks at me, Dan...”

“Oh, my God,” Danny groaned, “do it already.”

“Fuck you,” Jack said, half to Dan and half to the family still staring at his blush and obviously gay discussion.

“No, seriously,” Dan said. “If what you’re telling me about what’s going on is true--all that romantic, goopy shit--then sex seals the deal.” At Jack’s agitated breath to speak, he held up a finger. “I know what you’re gonna say--it won’t ruin all of that. You’re making sex sound like it’s a dirty thing when it’s not. It’s about two people in a moment, being the embodiment of _‘together’_. And when--not if, _when_ \--you do it with Mark, it’ll be that. And you’ll laugh at me for this: It will literally be the act of love.”

Jack laughed, embarrassed and shocked. “The physical act of love? You’re mad.” He watched the family leave the aisle.

“Am I?” he asked. “You know I’ve done my homework here; I know what the deal about sex is. Sex is amazing any other time, but the one time I was in love... Jack, it’s not fucking someone. It’s loving someone.”

“You’re starting to sound like me,” Jack said, laughing through his blush.

Dan grinned. “I know, isn’t it terrible? Poetry doesn’t suit me, does it?”

“Not one bit.” Jack made his way to the next aisle.

“Yeah. That’s your job,” Dan said. “Do me a favor and go write poems about Mark. Gigantic, never-ending sap fests about his hair. Write about his eyes, the way they're the color of something metaphorical. Write about how you wanna fuck him, romantically. Fuck him then write about it. Fuck him _while_ you write about it.”

“Jesus, no,” Jack said. “Learned my lesson the hard way; never stop sex to write something down.”

“No, I never said to stop. Bring a pen and paper to bed.”

Jack threw his head back and laughed. “You are a perverted man with a dirty mouth.”

“And you love me for it!”

 

 

Mark was splayed across the bed, almost snoring. His leg hung off the side of the mattress and his mouth was parted slightly. One hand covered his forehead, as if he were a damsel in distress, the other straight out to his left, reaching for the wall. It looked like he had been dancing with the duvet and sheets and then was freeze-framed. Jack smiled at him. He kissed his eyelid, then his cheek, jawline then neck.

Mark hummed and inhaled, and when he opened his eyes, he smiled. “Hey.” He glanced around, seeming to notice Jack was dressed. “What time is it?”

“A little past eleven,” Jack said.

“How long have you been up?” Mark asked, sitting up and rubbing his eye.

Jack shrugged. “A bit.” He grabbed two plates from Mark’s desk and sat on the bed. “I wasn’t really feeling breakfast, so...” He held the plate out to him. “Lunch in bed.”

Mark grinned and took it. “You’re sweet,” he said. “Did you make--?”

“Coffee’s behind you.” Jack grinned at him.

Mark laughed, shaking his head. “You know me so well.” He took his mug from the bedside table gratefully.

“I’d hope so,” Jack said, reaching to grab his own mug from the desk. “I am your boyfriend after all.”

Mark huffed a laugh, mouth full. “I love hearing that.”

“What?”

“The boyfriend thing,” Mark said, then swallowed. “It kinda solidifies that I’m not dreaming.”

Jack laughed. “I understand.” He took a bite of his sandwich, enjoying how the sunlight came in through the window. It warmed up Mark's skin and hair and gave him a golden outline. Jack let himself enjoy the sight of his boyfriend shirtless for a moment more before grabbing a sweater off the ground and handing it to him.

Mark furrowed his eyebrows at it, mouth too full to question.

“I don’t want you to be cold,” Jack said, “and if I have to see you without clothes on any longer I’m gonna go mad.”

“I still have boxers on,” Mark said, taking his sweet time pulling the sweater on.

Jack shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Seeing the rest insights to what’s beneath.”

“Too early,” Mark said. “Too many words. Too much flirt." He shook his head. "Too early.”

Jack laughed and relented. He sipped his coffee and finished his food, then sat back in the bed with his mug held close. He let his eyelids droop as he drank, letting his exhaustion get the better of him until the caffeine kicks in. The trip to the store and call from Dan had been more than he could take on first thing in the morning.

“Succulent,” Mark said.

Jack tilted his head at him. “Pardon?”

“I’ve been trying to find the right word,” Mark said, “to describe you. The right word for the color of your lips and how your skin feels.” He leant closer, reaching for Jack’s hand. “Succulent. That’s my word now.”

Jack grinned. “Who’s the flirt now?”

Mark chuckled and planted a kiss on him, then another and another, then pulled him into his arms.

 

 

That evening, after dinner and cleanup, Jack sat alone in his room. He had told Mark he was going to shower, but he sat at his desk instead. He tentatively picked up a pencil.

He took a deep breath. The journal sat on the shelf above him, spine different from the rest; darker and more worn. Dust scattered as he plucked it off the shelf and glanced it over. With it in his hands, he felt old techniques and ancient rhymes come back to him. He breathed them in. It had been too long.

The dark leather that bound it together creaked as he opened it. The pages were bloated with unfinished thoughts and much too painful beauties. It smelled of his old apartments, of rotten memories and a homes that weren’t home anymore. On the pages were stories of his life from a point of view he didn’t see from anymore. He flipped to a clean page.

He wrote down a line. He tilted his head at it. He counted out the syllables and continued. The rhymes were stiff and the metaphors were plain. He tried again.

His attempts balanced between better and worse. One was too heavy with unclean rhymes and the next was effortlessly smooth in cadence. He kept going until he got something he could smile at and made tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. It was barely a fraction of what Jack knew he could do, but it was much closer than he’d been in years.

He closed the book and put it back in its place. For now, that was it; he needed to see his muse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for reading!! My little brother gave me the flu, and it messed up my writing schedule. I'll do my best to get back on track, but if chapters are screwy or late for a while, thats why.
> 
> Anyways, see you next week!!


	16. Topaz Skin and Wild Eyes

It was a brisk, frozen-over evening, the coldest it had been since Christmas. The snow that had dusted the campus days before had settled into unpleasant sludge and ice. Mark had built a fire to battle it with the few logs left inside. The cocoa Jack had made when Mark was building the fire was long since devoured, mugs discarded to the edges of the blanket they had spread out. They sat in the floor before the blaze, absorbing its warmth from where it sizzled in the fireplace. Mark was breaking the silence before he knew he was speaking.

“What are your favorite names?”

Jack furrowed his brows at the fire. “I dunno,” he said after a moment. He tilted his head at Mark, question apparent in his smile. “Why?”

Mark shrugged at the fire. “Just curious.” He was leant back on his hands, sitting with his legs stretched out before him.

Jack squinted at him. “Are you askin’ about names for kids?” he laughed.

Mark looked away and shrugged. “You could’ve just answered the question...”

Jack shook his head, curious smile still in its place. “Why do you wanna know?”

Mark shrugged and shook his head. “I dunno. It slipped out--I shouldn’t’ve asked.” He stared at the disintegrating logs. “I just... I want to know what you’d name your children, what authors and metaphors you’d use.”

“Don’t you think that’s early?” Jack asked. “To be naming our kids?”

“It’s hypothetical,” Mark said. “And I never said ‘our’.”

Jack was silent. Mark stole a glance before staring back at his fire. The light cast Jack’s skin a topaz color and the flames made his eyes wild.

Mark ran a hand through his hair. “Pretend we’ve been married for years. We’re sitting on our back deck, half-empty wine glasses in our hands, watching our outside fireplace because we’re rich." Jack giggled at that and Mark allowed himself a grin. "As the sun sets, I turn to you and ask, ‘Dear, what are your favorite names?’”

“You’re mad,” Jack said at the same time his heart swelled.

Mark asked, “What if we’re naming a dog?” At Jack’s hesitant expression, he continued. “C’mon... I just wanna know if it’ll be a Poe or a Hemmingway.”

“Poe, definitely,” Jack said, brow lowering and head back. “Hemmingway’s an obnoxious and obvious name, and Earnest’s not better. Imagine naming your kid Earnest and then it turns out to be a compulsive liar.”

Mark laughed. “Okay, so we _are_ talking about kids.”

Jack smiled at him. “You wanted to know,” he shrugged. “And now you know none of my kids will be named Earnest.”

Mark grinned and nodded. “Noted.”

“What about you, then?” Jack asked, nudging his arm. “What stage of the scientific process would you name your child after?”

Mark laughed, “Fuck you.”

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” Jack said. “Honestly, though. Do you have any picked out?”

Mark took a quick breath. “I...” He exhaled. “Is it bad that I do? That I have a couple names already?”

Jack grinned. “No, it’s normal. Good, even.” He leant closer. “Tell me.”

Mark kept his head down as he spoke. “I’d name them after constellations or flowers. Even if it was a boy; not all flowers are Daisy and not all stars are Andromeda. Even if I chose Chrysanthemum, it could be shortened to Chrys.”

Jack nodded. “That’s nice.” He closed an eye. “Chrysanthemum’s a mouthful, though.” He chuckled.

Mark smiled. “That’s why I’d call ‘em Chrys.”

Jack returned the grin. “So...” He looked back at the fireplace and leaned into Mark. “We’re on our deck, the wine’s all set out...”

Mark nodded. “The fireplace roars and keeps us warm because your manly husband built it.”

Jack laughed. “Yes, my big, strong science nerd that keeps me as warm as the fire." He swept a hand across the air as he said, "Our dog, Poe, runs around the yard.”

Mark grinned at him and grabbed Jack's hand. “And you smile at me like you know what I’ll say before I ask it.” He rubbed his thumb over Jack’s knuckles. “Baby... What would you name our kids?”

Jack closed his eyes and rested his head on Mark’s shoulder. “Joel, I think, or Emory, so they’ll be filled with music and never forgotten.” He smiled softly at him.

Mark raised his eyebrows at him. "Emory? Where did you get that? That's beautiful."

"It was the name of a street somewhere I visited during college." Jack shook his head. "I don't even remember where, but I loved the way it sounded. It just stuck." He grinned at Mark. "It was the name of the main character in my Creative Writing final in college, too. Aced it," he said with pride. “But what about you, love? What are your names?”

“That's nice,” Mark said, the corner of his mouth lifting. Then, he squinted at the fire, sorting through all the names in his head. “I like Capella for a girl and Mullein for a boy.”

Jack nodded. “No unisex?” he asked.

Mark shrugged. “I suppose Mullein could be a girl’s name as well.” With a glance at Jack, he said, “Don’t tell me you’d name a girl Joel. Like Billy Joel?”

Jack scoffed a laugh. “Why not? I think it’s a fine unisex name.” He leaned away from Mark. “I mean, can’t you imagine a badass young woman that doesn’t give a shit what other people think, or an ambitious young man that stands for what’s right? That’s someone who has the name Joel. That’s someone I’d raise.”

The corners of Mark’s mouth tugged down. “I was imagining babies...”

“Well, you have babies to raise them into adulthood, don’t you?” Jack looked back to the fireplace.

“I see what you mean,” Mark said. “But I was thinking more about when they’re little. I mean, of course when I think about having kids, I think about when they’ll be adults. But I think about when they're in school, too. Like, what name would they not have to tick their last initial onto?"

Jack tilted his head. “I guess I’ve never thought about that,” he said. “The in-between, when they’re almost people.” He winced. “Ah, man, they're gonna be snotty twelve-year-olds with braces sometime, aren’t they?”

“But they’ll always be our babies,” Mark said. “And they’ll hate it as much as our wallets do, but it’ll be adorable in the Christmas family photos.”

“We’ll do family photos?” Jack asked, quirking his head at Mark.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Your family never did them? Mine were never formal or anything, but there was always an identical photo of me and my brother hugging each other in front of the tree from each year.”

Jack grinned. “That’s precious.”

Mark shrugged. "It just happened."

"You'll have to show me those someday," Jack said like they had a someday, laying back on the blanket beneath them.

Mark nodded and released his hand, eyes trained to the fire. He wondered how his mother would react to Jack if he brought him home. She would love the fact that he cooked, but would fuss at his swearing, he thought. Tom on the other hand would love Jack immediately. He was a sucker for a good storyteller.

"Where is this house?" Jack asked. "Our rich-people house." He caught Mark's eye. "Where are we raising our kids?"

"I dunno," Mark said. "Would you want to go back to Ireland or stay here?"

"Oh, here," Jack blurted. "The education is so much better, and they'd have many more options for college. They could each go to a different state and be happy. In Ireland, sure, you can move to a different town, but it's all the same. There's one city and one country, and one measly little university, but here, there's hundreds of thousands of them."

Mark had been nodding as he gazed into the fire, but paused partway through Jack’s words. "Hold on..." He turned to look down at him. "Different states? How many kids are you imagining?"

Jack shrugged and the corners of his mouth turned down. "A couple... maybe three or four?"

Mark exhaled, eyes widening. "Four? I was thinking one or maybe two _if_ we're that lucky."

"I could do two," Jack said. "What do you mean ‘lucky’?"

Mark lay next to him. "With the adoption process."

"Adoption?" Jack asked.

"Yeah. It’s absolutely grueling and what are even the chances we'll get babies?"

Jacks brows were furrowed. "No, Mark, I'd do surrogacy. Guaranteed infant and we get to see exactly who our child's from."

"But adoption is giving a kid another chance," Mark said. "The foster care system is vicious; anything I can do to keep someone out of that..."

"Okay..." Jack said. "Okay, we can adopt. But surrogacy is so similar. It's taking a child that wouldn't otherwise be wanted and caring for it. Please, let us start there. So we can have a baby."

Mark let out a breath. "Okay." He leant close to Jack and accepted a kiss from him. "We'll do that. But the next one gets adopted."

Jack grinned. "Okay." He pulled him into another kiss. He hummed and said, "I wish we could make our own baby."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "So soon?"

"Not that we would right now," Jack said. "I'm just saying. It'd make things easier."

Mark nodded. "I know what you mean. I'm fine with sex as it is, though. Just saying."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Not yet."

"Not yet? Not while the fire roars and the blanket’s all laid out..." Mark grinned as he made a sweeping motion, joking tone in his voice.

Jack shook his head with a chuckle. "No, not yet. I'm..." He exhaled and looked away. "I'm afraid it might spoil what we have."

"Spoil?" Mark asked. "What’s to spoil? We're a married couple that just decided to have kids."

Jack huffed out a breath. "Drop the story, Mark."

"Fine, then," Mark said. " _What have we got to spoil?_ "

Jack squeezed his eyes shut and turned away. "Don't do that to me, Mark. Don't make me think about what we have. What we'll..." _...lose._

"We won't lose anything," Mark said, stubborn. "I won't force you, but that's why we're here, isn't it? To be together like we really are together?"

"I'm not talking about sex," Jack said, looking sharply back to him. "I'm talking about the end of the week.” He set his gaze to the ceiling. “I don’t want to remember us--to remember _you_ \--as a fling, as a dirty dream I lived out for a week and a half." He took a short breath, in-out, tears in the edges of his eyes. "I can’t, knowing..." He huffed, eyes boring into Mark's. "I can't have you for a moment, knowing that I can’t have you for a lifetime."

Marks head dropped. He took a shaky breath, Jack's words sinking into him like the teeth of a woeful panther. "Then why the hell did you say yes?" he asked. "Why did you play along with that damn fantasy?"

"Because..." Jack shook his head, then sniffed and composed himself. "No. Let's not talk about this anymore." He patted Mark’s chest and blinked away tears. “More cocoa?”

"No," Mark said. "You can't just brush over this."

"I'm not," Jack said. "I'm playing my part in the fantasy, the housewife.” He looked at Mark, misery poorly hidden behind his eyes. “Is that not what we’re doing? Playing pretend like we're not lonely strangers with cabin fever?"

Mark pressed his lips together and stared at him. "We're not strangers, not now." He shook his head. "You're not a stranger to me."

“You can’t say that.” Jack shook his head as he sat up. "Don't do that to me."

"You keep saying that. What am I doing?"

"You're making this harder." He shook his head, eyes and jaw shut tight.

"Harder for what?"

"Harder for me," Jack wept, frustrated. "Harder for the week to end." He hid his face in his hands.

Mark sat there, feeling a cavity open in his chest. Jack was crying, and it was his fault. His own heart was breaking for the same reason he knew Jack’s was. He reached out to him.

“Jack...”

He shook his head and moved to stand. "We need to sleep."

Mark shook his head, tears welling up to drown him. "No. No, let's sit here and-and talk. We can work this out." He knelt, but couldn’t do much more. It felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. “If we stay here, together, the week doesn’t end. Please.”

Jack was already walking away. His footsteps were loud and haunting even as he was upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (fun facts: mullein is a yellow flower that symbolizes good-nature (look it up, it's gorgeous!) and Emory is an OC of mine that happens to be a street in my town!)
> 
> thanks for your support and for reading! it means the world and then some!!


	17. Footsie

“Hello?”

Mark let out the breath he’d been holding. “Wade,” he said. “I didn’t know how much I needed to hear your dumb voice.”

“Um?” Wade said. “Mark, are-are you okay?”

Mark took a shaky breath. “I... I don’t know.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m... Oh, God, this is hard to say...” He rested his head on the wall behind him and sunk deeper into the pillows on his bed. “I’m in love.”

Wade was silent for a moment. “Then why the hell do you sound so miserable?” he asked.

Mark gritted his teeth to hold back a new wave of tears. “I’m gonna get to that.”

“Did he not say it back or something? Please don’t tell me you told him you love him.”

“No,” Mark sighed. “I didn’t tell him I love him. I just.” He gripped the sheet in his fist, then released it. “Do.”

“I thought you already loved the guy,” Wade said. “I don’t see what the issue is.”

 _The issue is that I’m a dumbass hopeless romantic that falls like a deadweight_ , Mark thought. “The school won’t allow us to be together," he said instead.

“Then...” Mark could practically see Wade, brow furrowed and head shaking, a hand on his hip. “Why don’t you just go under the radar like you did with the drama teacher?”

“Because this isn’t a fling,” Mark said. “We won’t be able to hide something like this from the board. Even if we are housemates.”

Wade paused before he spoke. “Then let the romance fizzle out? I thought you two _were_ just a fling.”

Mark shook his head. “No, we’re--” His voice cracked. “I don’t think it was ever going to be that.”

“So, you haven’t...” Wade cleared his throat. “Hit third base?”

“No,” Mark said, “you twelve-year-old. We haven’t gone to third base yet. Only halfway past second. Like, above the waist.”

“Damn,” Wade said. “Who’s the twelve-year-old? I thought you guys would’ve gotten a few home runs by now.”

“Fucking stop with the baseball metaphors,” Mark laughed despite himself.

“Okay, okay, sorry.” After a moment, Wade said, “So, what you’re telling me is that you think he’s the one.”

“Yes.” Mark nodded once to himself and stared at his door. “I know it.”

“Do you know if he feels the same?”

Mark tugged on the duvet to straighten it out and leaned into a pillow. His whole bed smelled like Jack. It made his chest tighten up. “Well, we were talking tonight, and it went from chatting to naming imaginary kids to talking about making our own kids, and then--”

“Wait, hold on,” Wade said. “You were talking kid names?” He shook his head. “Baaaad idea, man.”

“Fucking--I know, okay? I know.” He took a breath. “I was just, I dunno. I was feeling sappy, and you know how well that usually bodes for me. _Case in point: tonight._ But everything was going fine until we started talking about sex. His whole demeanor just _shifted_. I didn’t understand what had gone wrong, so I tried to reel him back in with my sap. Needless to say, it didn’t work. He started talking about not spoiling what we have with sex, how he didn’t want us to be a fling. And I thought that was ridiculous, because I thought what you were thinking: we got together this week so we could do that. But then he started crying, and kept telling me not to.”

“Not to what?”

“Be romantic?” Mark said. “Not to be in love with him like I fucking am? He told me I was making it harder for him.” He closed his eyes. “That I was making it harder for the week to end. And that’s when it hit me. My own love for him, my heartbreak I thought I wouldn’t have. And that he loved me, too, but hated it as much as I do.” Mark knocked the back of his head into the wall. “Why didn’t you stop me, Wade, why?” He continued to bang his head.

“I fucking tried, Mark,” Wade said. “You’re stubborn when you’re in love.”

“I just fell in love tonight, though,” Mark said.

“Nope,” Wade said with a shake of his head. “You’ve been in love with him since the moment he made Froot-Loop-and-popcorn garland with you and got you drunk.”

Mark took a moment. “That seems like forever ago.”

“Feels like yesterday to me,” Wade said. “And not long after, you were texting me about how you’d bought that damned stuffed unicorn and a Diet Dr. Pepper.”

“Actual genius on my part,” Mark said with a grin.

“The fact that he loved it was proof that he loved you, too,” Wade said. “And you can’t date him because you work with him?”

“Yes,” Mark said. “As long as we both work here, we can’t date.”

Wade hummed. “Okay. So--”

“Holy shit, I’ve got it!” Mark said.

“What, what?”

He sat forward in his bed. “I’ll quit my job!”

“What?” Wade shouted. “No! No way are you quitting.”

“If we don’t work together, we can date,” Mark said. “That’s the only issue here-- our work. I’ll just resign.”

“And where the hell will you go?” Wade asked. “You don’t have any local options, and it’s not like there’s a fucking line of universities waiting to hire you. Even if there were, how would you date the guy if you were living in the city? Or a different state? There’s not even a supermarket in that tiny-ass town hiring.” Wade huffed. “No, you’re not quitting. Jack wouldn’t want that.”

Mark feebly pulled his covers higher. “Then what’re your bright ideas?”

Wade let out a breath. “You’re not gonna like it.”

Mark shrugged. “So what? I don’t like the cards I’ve been dealt now.”

Still, Wade hesitated. “How long do you guys have together?”

“'Til Friday evening probably,” Mark said, “why?”

“So, that gives you, what?” Wade counted quietly to himself. “Three and a half days?”

Mark pressed his lips together.

“My suggestion to you is...” Wade exhaled. “Enjoy him while you can. You know, ‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.’”

Mark squeezed his eyes shut. “Whoever wrote that quote is an asshole,” he said, tears littering his sheets.

“What I’m saying is don’t let your--or his, for that matter--fear of heartbreak stop you from loving him. You guys are already in love, it’s not like you’ll be less heartbroken if you isolate yourselves for the rest of the week. You’ll just be more upset if you let that happen; you’ll always wish you had more time with him if you end up never being able to be with him again.”

Mark took a breath and grit his teeth. “I fucking hate it when you’re right,” he wept. “Because you’re always right about the shitty stuff.”

“A blessing and a curse.”

Mark turned over and set his gaze on the TV. It was playing the news. “How the hell do I tell him all that?” Mark asked. “Especially after the night we’ve had? Do I just walk up to his door and say that dumb quote?”

“Don’t talk to him tonight,” Wade said. “Make him breakfast or something and, I dunno, be domestic and shit. Make him forget about Friday.”

Mark rubbed his eyes. “Okay.”

Wade asked, “Are you gonna kiss him on New Year’s Eve?”

“Probably,” Mark said. “I’ll most likely cry when the clock strikes twelve, though.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Wade said. “I think by then, you’ll have earned the right to.”

Mark nodded, then held his phone closer. “What if he rejects me?” He curled into himself. “What if I make breakfast and get sappy and he hates it?”

“He won’t reject you,” Wade said. “He loves you, remember? He wants this to work out just as much as you do.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Mark kicked off his sheets and duvet, quiet for a moment.

“You should get some rest,” Wade said.

Mark laughed once. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t think I’ll sleep a wink.”

Wade shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt to try.”

Mark nodded, knowing Wade was trying to politely hang up. “Well, goodnight, then. I know it’s late, I won’t keep you up.”

Wade laughed. “Thanks.”

“Thank _you_ , man,” Mark said. “I don’t know where I’d be if it wasn’t for you.”

Wade scoffed. “Imagine where you’d be if you actually followed all my advice.” They laughed. “Seriously, though. You’re my friend. That’s what I’m here for.”

Mark sighed, smile on his face. “Thanks. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mark,” Wade said, then hung up.

 

 

Jack hadn’t meant to fill up the rest of his notebook, and he couldn’t remember when he’d fallen asleep. All he knew was that he was awake and that he wished he weren’t. The way he’d slept made his neck and back ache, and the undoubtable sound of Mark in the kitchen made his heart pound with anxiety. Whatever Mark was doing, Jack decided it could wait on him.

He took a shower, which took care of his aches and pains. When he was back in his room, he saw the journal on his desk and wondered if what he’d written the night before was any good. He considered burning it without reading it back.

After dressing and toweling off his hair, he stood outside his door. He couldn’t hear Mark in the kitchen anymore, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there. He could be sitting at the table, as gorgeous as always, eating his dash-of-cinnamon pancakes.

 _Pancakes_. Jack’s stomach roared. Why had God created his perfect Hell?

Then, he had the perfect idea: Earbuds. He grabbed them from his room and headed downstairs, putting them on as he went. This way, Mark would think twice about talking to him, or not even talk to him at all. Jack pulled out his phone. He just had to appear busy...

When Jack entered the kitchen, he didn’t look up from his phone. He went straight to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. He swiped back and forth between his home screens.

The kitchen was dead quiet. Jack was hopeful for a moment, then he heard Mark’s footsteps.

“Jack?” he asked. He could practically feel Mark behind him. Warm and cozy and safe.

Jack opened his messages and kept stirring his coffee.

Then, Mark’s hand was on his back and he was leaning into his field of view, elbow on the counter. “Baby?” He rubbed circles into his back. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw him frown. “What’re you listening to?” he asked, then held the unplugged end of Jack’s earbuds up.

Jack stared at it. “I...” He felt his ears heat up, and he finally met Mark’s gaze. He cleared his throat. “Hadn’t decided on what to listen to yet.”

Mark smiled. “Alright.” He turned and gestured to the table. “I made breakfast. And tea, if you’re interested. Although, I don’t think I did it right...”

Jack exhaled through his nose, lips tight. “Mark...” He pulled the earbuds out and pocketed them. “We need to talk.”

Mark shook his head. “Let’s...” He placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Let’s just have breakfast first, okay?” he said.

Jack gave a longing look to the food on the table, feeling the emptiness in his stomach. With a sigh, he relented. “Okay, but only because you’re a pancake wizard.”

Mark laughed, “That’s a new one.”

Jack shrugged as he approached the table. He made himself a plate in silence, then took a seat.

“Would you like some tea?” Mark asked from the stove.

Jack shook his head and held up his mug. “Got coffee.”

Mark nodded and made his way to the table. Jack cringed at how loud his footsteps were.

After a beat, Jack complimented the food. Mark thanked him and silence ensued.

Mark tapped his fingers on the table. Watching them, Jack chewed as quietly as he could. Mark pulled the remaining plate on the table closer to him and put a pancake on it. He smothered it in peanut butter and syrup, then picked at it. As Jack took his last bite, Mark pushed away the obliterated food.

Jack reluctantly met his eyes. His expression softened and his shoulders loosened up. “So,” he said, all fight gone from him.

Mark laced his fingers over the table. “So?” he said. “Where do you want to start?”

Jack shook his head. “I don’t-I don’t know.” His head dropped.

“Well,” Mark said, “I want to let you know that I’ll never force you to do anything with me. I realized I sounded terrible when we were talking last night.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Jack nodded. “Thank you. I--thank you.” He met Mark’s gaze again, through his brows and shy. “That was something I thought I needed to say. I don’t think--I don’t _want_ that to happen this week.”

“I understand now,” Mark said. “And I respect your decision. I won’t even touch you unless I know you’re a hundred percent okay with it.”

A small smile formed on Jack’s lips. “I appreciate that. But...” He glanced at Mark’s hands on the table, then back at him. He placed a hand over his. “That’s not necessary.”

Mark unraveled his hands to hold Jack’s. “I know there’s a lot more...”

Jack shook his head. “There’s not.”

Mark pulled his hand to his chest. “There is. There’s so much.” Jack took a note of how this felt; Mark’s solid chest under the soft t-shirt, the neckline and the sliver of skin he barely touched. “I get the feeling that you’re trying to... to taper this off so it’ll hurt less. Am I right? And I know where you’re coming from, but...” He squeezed Jack’s hand. “Doing that won’t make New Year’s any easier. It’s gonna drive me crazy when we can’t be together later, so why start it now?”

Jack was silent, head down.

Mark lowered their hands back to the table. “I’d quit my job,” he said, and Jack’s head whipped up, “if I knew you wouldn’t stop me.”

“Like hell I’d stop you,” Jack said. “You... You wouldn’t actually quit. Would you?”

Mark nodded. “Yeah, I--yes. In a heartbeat. If it meant I could be with you, my two-week notice would be on the principal’s desk right now.”

Jack shook his head. “Don’t say that.”

Mark muttered an apology. “I know I’m making things tougher, I just--”

“No, I get it,” Jack said. “Just.” He leaned on his elbows and brought Mark’s hand to his mouth. “I’ll try to forget about saving myself the pain.”

“That’s the plan.” Mark grinned and nudged Jack’s foot with his own under the table.

Jack giggled and pulled away. “Jesus, we’re havin’ an adult conversation about the state of your occupation and our relationship and you’re trying to play footsie!”

“I’m not!” Mark laughed. “I swear, I didn’t mean to footsie you.”

“Goddammit,” Jack laughed. “Saying it like that doesn’t make it any better.”

Mark giggled and put both his feet over one if Jack’s.

“Stop it, stop it!” Jack laughed. “I’m ticklish, no!”

“Jesus Christ, I didn’t know people could be that ticklish,” Mark grinned.

“Oh, I don’t like that smile,” Jack said. He leaned back in his chair and watched as Mark stood. “No!” He jumped up from the table and bolted to the living room, Mark following closely after, hands open and ready to tickle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are approx. four chapters and an epilogue left on this story. The next is a bit longer, but be prepared for some tough scenes!
> 
> Thanks again so much for your support and for reading!!


	18. Gearshift

Jack sighed as he lay in the bed, leaning back into Mark’s arms. “That was a goooood dinner. I am absolutely stuffed.”

“Thank you,” Mark said. “See? I told you I can cook.”

Jack nodded. “I know you can.” He grasped Mark’s hand and brought it to his lips.

Mark hugged him closer with his free arm. “We should go to town tomorrow.”

Jack tilted his head to glance at Mark. “We should?”

“Yeah, I mean.” Mark shifted in his place. “Do you not want to?”

“Well, sure,” Jack said. “I just don’t know what’d we do. Is there anywhere to go besides that bar we went to?”

“Yeah, well,” Mark said, “I’m sure there’s other stuff, further out. Shops and restaurants...”

“Unf, no restaurants,” Jack said, rubbing his belly. “All we do here is eat. I’ve gained at _least_ ten pounds since break started.”

Mark giggled. “Me, too.” He laced his fingers with Jack’s. “Then that leaves shops. I think there’s a hardware store near the Winn-Dixie...”

Jack laughed. “I swear to God if you take me to a hardware shop...”

Mark laughed. “I’m joking. I wouldn’t.” He let out a breath. “I just, I dunno. I want to go _out_ with you and get off this damn campus. Even if we just drive around the whole day.”

“The taxi for that would cost a fortune,” Jack said.

“We’ll take my car,” Mark said.

“You have a car?” Jack turned to gawk at him. “Why didn't I know that?”

“I don’t know,” Mark laughed. “I thought you knew.”

Jack turned back away and shook his head. “How did I not know you have a car?”

Mark grinned. “I love the way you say that.”

“What?” Jack asked.

“Car,” Mark said. “Or as you say it, caererrerrrr.”

Jack bubbled with laughter. “That is a terrible Irish accent!”

“I’m sorry.” Mark grinned at him and kissed the top of his head.

Jack leant further into him and closed his eyes. “I’m kinda nervous. It’s gonna be like a legitimate date.”

Mark laughed. “I know. When was the last time you walked around town with your boyfriend just because you had nothing better to do?”

“Fuckin’ years,” Jack said.

“Same here,” Mark said.

“We’d better rest up, then,” Jack turned and positioned himself to use Mark’s shoulder as a pillow.

“What, no kiss goodnight?” Mark acted mock hurt, joking glint in his eye.

Jack propped himself up with a smile. “You are so needy,” he said, but kissed him anyway.

Mark giggled and stole another. “Needy for your lips.”

Jack rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself. “That’s only cute ‘cause it’s so dumb.”

Mark smooched him again and said, “Sorry, all I heard was ‘cute’.”

 

 

In the morning, after they’d dressed and eaten, they headed out. They trudged to the lot where Mark’s car was, shivering and laughing at how the other shook the same.

When they were in the car, Jack immediately started poking around the dashboard. “Start the car! Start the car!”

“What are you doing?” Mark laughed, engine sputtering as he turned the key.

“Preemptively turning on the heat,” Jack said, turning every dial to full blast. “So that when, _if you ever get this car going_ , it’ll already be on.”

Mark laughed. “That’s not how heat works in cars.”

“Shut up and start the car,” Jack chuckled.

After a few more tries, the engine purred to life and Mark pulled out of the empty parking lot. The car stuttered every so often on the way to the main gates, but otherwise seemed to have fared the cold well. He parked when they reached the gates, then got out to unlock and open them. He drove the car through, then locked the gates behind them.

Mark grunted as he sat back in the driver’s seat. “So, where to first?”

Jack shrugged. “I barely go into town,” he said. “And, this was your idea. So you pick.”

Mark chuckled. “Okay,” he said. “Well, it takes an hour to get to any good part of town.”

Jack sighed dramatically and pressed his forehead to the window.

“ _But_ ,” Mark patted around the gearshift until he found what he was looking for. He held a cord out to Jack. “You can DJ until we get there.”

Jack glanced between Mark and the cord. “Are you literally handing me the auxiliary cord?”

“Shut the hell up," he laughed, "or we’re listening to radio static with a hint of rap.” Mark raised an eyebrow and wagged the cord at him.

Shaking his head, Jack took it from him. “No way would you actually do that.”

“Oh, I would,” Mark said. “That’s my jam on the forty-minute drive to Walgreens.”

Jack laughed as he scrolled through his music. “I doubt that’s anything to jam to.”

“On the contrary,” Mark said. He glanced at Jack’s phone. “What’s the holdup, DJ?”

Jack bit his lip. “I’m nervous.”

“Why? Just play something.”

“I just--I don’t know what kind of music you like.”

“I don’t know what kind of music _you_ like,” Mark said. “But I trust you. I trust you to bring the jams.” He gestured the dash. “Now play that funky music, white boy!”

“Okay, okay, Jesus,” he laughed, pulling up a playlist. “Just never call me ‘white boy’ ever again.”

“Okay,” Mark laughed. “I won’t.” He glanced at him. “I’ll just call you DJ Jack-Jack McLizzle.”

Jack threw his head back and laughed. “ _Fuck_ no.”

The drive into town was silent save the music, which Jack ended up meticulously hand-picking. Mark occasionally made comments about the scenery as they drove, tidbits and facts about trees and plants. When they pulled into town, Mark turned the music down a few notches.

“Where shall we stop first?” he asked with a glance to Jack.

He shrugged. “How about we drive until something catches our eye?”

“Sounds good to me,” Mark said. It was only a minute before he slowed and pulled into a small parking lot.

Jack furrowed his brow at him.

“Pawn shop,” Mark said, shutting off the engine. “I thought the paint on the windows was cool.”

Jack chuckled. “As good a reason as any.”

They got out of the car and quickly shuffled their way inside. The smell of old leather and dust greeted them before the owner did. The man behind the counter looked up from his phone but only blinked at them. He frowned back at his phone.

The place was poorly lit and mostly wooden. Guitars and guns hung behind the man, and jewelry was displayed in the glass case in front of him. The room Mark and Jack stood in stretched a bit farther but was otherwise small and stuffed to the brim with old loot. Jack walked to the other side with a grin.

“Look at this bike,” he said, poking one of the wheels. It spun above them with a weary creak.

“Probably doesn’t even work anymore,” Mark said, eyeing the noticeable rust.

Jack ran his fingers along the orange sherbet-colored body. “Still looks cool, though.”

Mark shrugged and turned his attention to the shelves behind him. Jack strolled over to a shelf with ancient books scattered on it. First editions and obscure, leather-bound pieces of literature. The shelves above were for CDs and tapes, color-coded with stickers to indicate their price.

Jack took a sweeping glance around the place, and noticed the doorway across from the long counter. Round racks of clothes were beyond it, and from what he could see, shelves of shoes. He turned to the shop owner.

“Is that extra stock or more store?” Jack gestured to the doorway.

The man looked lazily up. “That’s the thrift shop, son,” he said. “There oughtta be other shit if you look hard enough.” He waved him away. “Go nuts.”

“...Thanks,” Jack said, then waved Mark over to join him.

This part of the shop was a fraction smaller, the same width, but not as deep. There were shoes and a tie rack on the left side, near racks of men’s shirts. Jack took to the ties, as they were the only way he could really accessorize at work. Most of the ones on display were faded and stained, but he managed to find one he liked. It had cartoons on it, sketched in black and white.

Mark called his name and he turned around.

Mark stood in front of a drum kit, a full, old set. He had an excited grin on his face. “You play drums, right?” he asked.

Jack’s face lit up at the sight of it. “Holy shit, yeah.” He stood next to Mark and admired the kit.

“Do you wanna play it?” Mark asked.

“I don’t know if I can...” He eyed the doorway, towards the owner.

Mark jumped over and poked his head around the corner. “Sir, may we test out the drums?”

He didn’t even look up. “Knock yourself out.”

Mark bit his lip and smiled back at Jack.

He exhaled. “Okay, okay...” He grabbed an old dining chair and set it behind the drums. There were sticks resting on the snare, and he picked them up tentatively. He raised an eyebrow at Mark, who was watching with his fists held to his chest.

Jack shook his head, then twisted the sticks in his hands. He tried the kickdrum and cringed. He hit the toms and the snare. “Oh, it’s so out of tune,” he said.

Mark furrowed his brow at him. “Drums can get out of tune?”

“Well, yeah,” Jack said. “It’s an instrument. It’s skin stretched over wood, like strings on a guitar.” He hit the floor tom again, making a deep, pitiful, nearly rattling sound. Jack shuddered.

“Can you even play anything, then?” Mark asked.

“Well, I mean, I can,” Jack said, scooting closer to the kit. “It just won’t sound the best.”

Mark shrugged. “I don’t mind. Just give me a little beat.”

Jack closed an eye. “Okay...” He started with the kickdrum. “Sorry if it’s not perfect, I’m a bit rusty.” He added some snare and hi-hat, then played a stream louder and louder to hit the symbols. Upon impact, dust erupted from them, making Jack cover his face and laugh, which turned into a cough.

“Good Lord,” Mark said, waving dust away. “As gross as that was, that was awesome.” He applauded.

Jack stood and took a bow. “Thank you, thank you. Don’t forget to tip your waitresses.”

Mark laughed as Jack put the chair and sticks back where he found them. Mark grinned at him, hands out for Jack’s. “Thanks for playing. That really was great.”

Jack took a cautious glance to the doorway before accepting Mark’s hands. “My pleasure. Really.” He allowed himself a step closer. “It’s been too long since I’ve last played.”

“Well, you’ve still got it,” Mark said. He kissed his forehead, then stepped away.

Jack dropped his hands, chuckling. “Thanks.”

While Mark went back to the pawn part of the shop, Jack grabbed the cartoon tie and took a final look around. There wasn’t much more besides clothes and used picture frames. Jack followed Mark into the pawn room and resisted the urge to reach out and touch him. He wanted to poke his sides or pinch his ass or stroke his arm.

Instead, he snagged a book off the shelf, then strolled along the glass counter, looking at the more “valuable” things within. Watches and engagement rings and a signed baseball. Jack put his things on the counter and purchased them.

Mark appeared behind him. “Excuse me, good sir,” he said, and the shop owner gave him a bored glare. “Could you tell me what there is to do around here? See, we’re teachers from the boarding school up the road and--”

“Bowlin’ alley,” the man said, pointing to his left. “Community park.” He pointed in front of him and to the right. “Subway,” to his right, then he threw a thumb behind him. “Movie theater.”

“Um,” Mark said. “Thanks?”

Jack pulled him by his arm to the door, which creaked with its own weight and sunk to a close. He walked to the car without waiting for him.

Mark cleared his throat as he got in the car. “So.” He turned the key in the ignition. “Which of those destinations sound good to you?”

Jack shrugged, arms around himself. “Movie theater?”

Mark nodded and put the car into gear. “I’ve been there before,” he said. “Foolishly, I thought I’d be able to see _Ant-Man_ when it came out, but I think _Casablanca_ ’s the only movie they have.”

“I don’t have a problem with that,” Jack grinned.

Shortly, they were parked and strolling inside. The sign in the ticket booth said,

 

> _BUY YOUR TICKETS INSIDE! OWNER NOT WILLING TO FREEZE TO DEATH!_
> 
> _~ WARM UP WITH OUR NEW HOT COCOA ~_

The woman standing at the small concessions stand smiled at them when they entered. “Hiya! What can I do ya for?”

“Two tickets to the next movie showing,” Mark said.

“And two of those hot cocoas,” Jack added with a nod to the door.

The woman grinned. “Next movie’s whenever you boys are ready.” She began preparing their drinks. “You’re the only two in this theater right now.”

Mark and Jack shared a look, both hiding grins.

“Great,” Jack said. “What’s playing?”

“Well, I’ve got two reels out today, both classics,” the woman said, sliding paper cups to them. “Disney’s animated _Alice in Wonderland_ , or _Casablanca_. Or, if you’re still in the holiday spirit, I’ve got _It’s a Wonderful Life_ and _White Christmas_ in the back. Up to you.”

“I think we’ll go with _Casablanca_ ,” Mark said.

“Alright,” she said, then told them their total. Mark ended up paying after a silent argument with Jack through intense eye contact. She told them which theater to head to and that the movie would be playing shortly.

“I’ve never had a theater to myself,” Mark said as they got settled in the red velvet seats.

“Me neither,” Jack said with a sip from his cup.

“I didn’t ask for this cocoa, either,” Mark said, holding up his cup to view it.

“Well if you won’t have it, give it here.” Jack patted the armrest between them. “Because it’s damn delicious.”

Mark frowned at his cup. “Well, now I wanna try it.” Jack chuckled as he took a sip. “Oh, no,” Mark said.

“What?”

“It’s so good.” He closed his eyes and went in for another drink.

Jack laughed. “I told you!”

Then, the lights went out. They turned their attention to the screen, which began playing the movie shakily.

“I feel like I’m in a time capsule,” Jack whispered after a minute.

Mark nodded and hummed, eyes on him instead of the screen. Jack’s eyes were far-off but focused, intent on the movie, traces of hot cocoa on the corners of his mouth. Mark grinned and reached for his hand.

Jack pulled his attention away. After a split second of confusion, he smiled at Mark. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t know why I’m watching the movie.” He placed his other hand on top of theirs. “I should be enjoying our time together.”

Mark shook his head. “This _is_ time together.” He waved to the screen. “Go on. I could watch you watch movies forever.”

Jack leaned in and stroked his cheek. “You’re so sweet.” He gave him a kiss. “But I’m being dumb.” He made a sweeping motion across the rows of seats. “We have a whole theater to ourselves. Why aren’t we making out?”

Mark grinned. “You tell me.” And he went in for it.

 

 

They only pulled away when the lights went up. Jack was the one that snapped out of it, and the first thing he did was check the entrance and the projector window. Then, he grinned back at Mark and his messed-up hair and raw mouth (trying to remember every detail). He returned the smile.

“I’ve never done _that_ before,” Mark said.

Jack laughed. “Me neither.” He stood and grabbed his empty hot cocoa cup. “But I definitely wanna do it again.” He winked at him.

Mark sustained his blush from being kissed so well. “Give me a time and place and I’m there.” He took a sip from his cup without thinking as they descended the stairs. He winced away from it. “Damn, I let my cocoa get cold.”

Jack cringed. “Egh, that can’t be good.”

“Well...,” Mark said. “It’s just not hot anymore. Like chocolate milk. Still pretty good.”

Jack laughed. “You’re crazy.” He reached for the door.

“Wait, hold on,” Mark said. “Fix your hair.” He started combing his fingers through his own hair.

“Oh, shit, you’re right.”

They took a minute making each other look presentable before finally heading to the lobby.

“Enjoyed your film?” the lady asked as they exited.

“Oh, yes,” Jack said. “Definitely. Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” she said, then gave them a wave. “Come again soon!”

As they walked back to the car, Jack giggled to himself.

Mark gave him a curious smile. “What’s so funny?” He unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for Jack.

He held back another wave of laughter. “Nothin’. Nothin’s funny, I just--” He giggled at his shoes, then grinned at Mark. “I’m thinking about you and thinking about kissing you and... just how giddy it makes me.” He laughed. “And how that woman doesn’t know what we were doing in there.”

“Oh, I think she knew,” Mark said. He gestured around Jack’s face. “Your entire mouth is red.”

Jack brought a hand to his lips, then let out another giggle.

Mark circled the car. “C’mon.” He got in and waited for Jack to follow suit. “Are you hungry?”

Jack shrugged, thinking about Mark and all the things he’s hungry for in other senses. “Are you?”

Mark shrugged. “The reason I ask is, there’s a Subway close, but it’s just one of those converted shops. It’s still run like a local place. And there’s a measly little park further down.” Mark started the engine with a glance to Jack. “And after that, I’m afraid that’s all there is in town.”

Jack nodded. “Well, it’s warmed up outside, so...” He grinned at Mark. “Let’s go to the park.”

Mark nodded and started down the street. Jack rolled down the window and noticed that there weren’t any people on the sidewalks, and barely any other cars on the road. It was eerie and exciting at the same time. He found the park was barren when they arrived.

“This place is tiny as shit,” Jack said, eyeing the singular rusty playset and dual swing.

Mark shrugged. “It’s a nice place to have a picnic.” He gestured to the open field beyond. “There’s plenty of room.”

Jack shrugged. “I suppose.” He unbuckled and stepped out of the car. When he met Mark at the hood, he shouted, “Race you to the swings!” and bolted off.

Mark stood shocked for a moment before running after him. “Slow down!”

“No way!” Jack ran past the swings, holding his hand out to graze the stand as he went by. He circled around to the playset and climbed the stairs.

Mark slowed his pace as he approached the playset. “What are you doing?”

Jack ducked beneath the metal roof at the top. “These seemed a lot bigger when I was five.”

Mark laughed, hand above his eyes to shield the Sun. “No shit.”

Jack giggled and turned to the slide. He sat and scooted to the edge, then pushed off, only to find that the slide was as long as his legs.

“Weeeee,” he said in a monotone, looking Mark dead in the eye.

Mark burst into a fit of laughter, holding his stomach. Jack joined him as he climbed off the slide and got an arm wrapped around him.

 “You came down that slide maybe an inch,” Mark said.

Jack laughed and leaned into him. When Mark’s giggles ceased, they sat in the swings. The chains creaked when the wind blew.

Jack kicked off from the ground and let his momentum wear out until his swings were small again. Mark watched as he rocked back to him, a blur of his charcoal-colored jacket. The sweet part of his bittersweet.

When Jack noticed he had an audience, he halted his motion. The corners of his mouth lifted and his gaze focused in the slightest. Mark couldn’t pinpoint what this look was yet, but it had happened a lot that day. When Mark was driving, especially, and in the theater; when Jack thought he wouldn’t notice. Now, Jack let the wind rock him in his swing, hands gripping the chains tightly.

“I’m glad we did this today,” Mark said.

Jack nodded, smile soft. “Me, too. I’m...” He glanced away and down, but Mark could still see his eyes. They were grayer today, guarded even as he smiled. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m having a lot more fun than I thought I would.” He grinned up at him, hair messy from being smothered by his coat hood (and maybe from their moment in the theater).

Mark smiled at the way the cold had turned Jack’s nose pink. “Yeah,” he said with a nod to the ground.

The mulch underneath them crunched as Mark kicked his swing into motion, then scattered when Jack joined him. They grinned at each other. Mark felt giddy and warm, even as the wind made his nose run.

Jack jumped off after a minute, landing perfectly and leaving his swing to fly back behind him. Mark stared for a moment before planting his feet and coming to a stop. He stood, out of breath. Jack just grinned at him, then turned and walked to the car without waiting.

Then, they were in the car, buckled in and engine started. Mark put his hand on the gearshift, but didn’t move it. He just stared at his hand, knowing that when he put into gear it was the beginning of the end. It was the end of the first date he’d been on in a long time, and what he knew would be the last for an even longer eternity. Once they were down the road, it was going to feel like driving towards Hell. The beginning of his death. The admittance of defeat. The gearshift was still cold under his clammy grip. He could hold on for a minute longer.

Jack placed a gentle hand over Mark’s. His smile was sad but gaze was mind-reading. Mark couldn’t stand the sight of it.

He kept his eyes forward as he shifted into drive and pulled out. Although, he didn’t let Jack’s hand go, not until they were back at the school’s gates.


	19. Periphery

Mark woke in the morning with a grunt and a foreboding anxiety over him. The feeling perplexed him. The air wasn’t chilled like previous nights, the Sunlight wasn’t cold or blinding, his bed was warm and cozy. Yet, he still felt... uneasy.

He turned and found Jack asleep next to him. Sublime, soft, _cutecutecute_ , and warm like fresh laundry. Mark shook his head. _No,_ he thought to himself. _Not laundry, something more romantic._ He laughed at himself when he couldn’t come up with anything, thinking that Jack was better at the whole poetic thing. He’d have made Mark blush and stutter a few times over by now, if he were awake. And Mark would be holding himself back from kissing him and hugging him, from being dumb and super-flirty and sappy. Mark thought to himself that he should say all that stuff to him, or maybe just say it while he was still sleeping. Just to get it out there because...

Because today was Thursday. New Year’s Eve.

Mark blinked at his hands. His stomach turned into a rock and his chest into a black hole.

He lay on his back and let his lungs empty. Unable to look at Jack anymore, he stared at the ceiling. Before, being around him had made Mark forget about being without him. Now, it only brought all the aching to the surface. Looking at him had been like seeing in full color and in five-dimensions. Now, he felt he may as well go blind.

He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that might hold back tears, or whatever he might try next. His hands wanted him to hold on to Jack and pretend he didn’t have to let him go. His eyes wanted to soak up his image while he was sleeping. His mind wanted to have an honest, half-awake conversation with him, to see if he could catch Jack’s unaware, forgetful stage. His mouth wanted to find his, and his body wanted him to attempt to convince Jack again, to try to have him while he could.

Eyes still closed, Mark rolled onto his side, facing Jack. He couldn’t look at him, but he could at least try to find some comfort in his warmth.

 

 

They found themselves on the couch downstairs that afternoon. Forgotten mugs sat on the coffee table, remnants of a slow-cooked and sad breakfast. The budget TV played a daytime show that neither watched. They kept their eyes on each other instead, in a silent understanding that this would be the last time they could do so in the way that they were. They chatted here and there, absent-minded comments and small compliments, hands linked between them carefully.

Mark was in the perfect position for viewing: An arm over the top of the cushions, one leg bent in front of him while the other was planted on the floor. Jack had his knees pulled to his chest, intent on Mark. Worrying that his old brain would forget the details of him. Like the delicate way he pushed hair out of his eyes, and how his brow quirked knowingly (cockily) when he knew Jack was watching him. Or the way that one beard hair stuck straight out on the side or the one that was gray at the bottom and to the right.

“Do you want to do anything today?” Mark asked, voice rougher than usual. He tilted his head lazily.

“I’m comfy where I am.” Jack shrugged and squeezed his hand. “What do _you_ want to do today?”

Mark grinned. “You.”

Jack rolled his eyes and let out a laugh. “Oh, come on. What a cheap shot.”

“I couldn’t help myself.” Mark shifted in his spot and leant closer. “And not like _that_. Jesus. Like...” He waved his hand in small motions, a magic trick to summon his words. “Like... _You_ , sitting here, being pretty. _You_ , sipping on coffee and complaining about news anchors. _You_ , existing on the couch in front of me.” He pulled Jack’s hand to his lips. “I just want to be here. With you.” He kissed the inside of his forearm, just past his wrist. “Near you.” He pecked the crook of his elbow, then bit his lip and retreated back to his side of the couch. He had more romantic, sappy, only-in-movies things to say, but the words got caught at the bottom of his throat. They built up pressure and made his periphery blurry.

Jack could see that, and took his hand again. “Keep going, love.”

Mark shook his head, eyes down. “I lost my train of thought,” he lied.

Jack turned away and stared at the television, squeezing Mark’s hand instead of dropping it. _Stop sparing yourself_ , he thought.

 

 

When the evening sunk into night, they searched for champagne. Not that they had anything to celebrate, they each thought. In the end, they could only find questionable apple juice and meme mugs to pour it into.

Mark built a fire later on, closer to when the ball would drop. Jack flipped between different New Year’s Eve shows, bored quickly with every pop singer that played their latest single. Mark watched from the floor beside the fire, laughing to himself every time Jack rolled his eyes and changed the channel again. He left to get the apple juice a couple minutes before midnight, and danced his way back into the living room.

“Hey,” he groaned when Jack flipped to a different show. “I liked that one.”

Jack crinkled up his nose. “Really? She was obviously lip-syncing.”

“Really?” Mark set the mugs and juice down. “How can you tell?”

“I saw the keyboardist cough straight into his microphone.” Jack turned it to a different channel.

“Wait, wait, keep it on this one,” Mark said. “Please? It’s Rockin’ Eve.”

Jack sighed over-dramatically. “Fine.” He glanced at him with a grin.

Mark returned it, tapping his foot to the generic electronica in the background. “Oh, no,” he said, stepping side to side with the beat.

“What?” Jack asked, setting his gaze on him.

“The music,” Mark said. “It’s getting to me.” He stomped his feet and wagged his elbows. “The beat! It’s contagious!”

Jack laughed at his exaggerated movements. “Oh, Lord.” He covered half his face with a hand.

Mark laughed at himself and leant on the coffee table, catching his breath. “I made you laugh. And that’s the important thing.”

“Out of second-hand embarrassment.”

Mark held out a hand. “Make it first-hand embarrassment.” He nodded Jack over.

“No way,” he chuckled.

“Oh, come on.” Mark wiggled his fingers. “Please? Just dance with me until the ball drops.”

Jack sat with his mouth taught for a moment before relenting with an exhale. “Fine. But we’re not listening to that bullshit.” He turned the volume of the TV down.

“Okay,” Mark said. “Then we’ll just pretend we’re at one of those silent discos.” He began to shimmy and snap his fingers.

“They have headphones at those places, though,” Jack said. He stepped back and forth to Mark’s snaps.

Mark shrugged to his beat. “Do you want to put on headphones?”

“Nah,” Jack said. “We need to hear when the people start counting.” He nodded to the TV.

Mark nodded, then started humming a funky melody.

Jack giggled. “What are you doing?”

“Making music,” he answered, then when back to humming.

Jack put some shoulder into it. “That sounds familiar.”

Mark shrugged. “Just making it up as I go.”

Jack nodded, which turned into bobbing his head.

Mark ceased his snapping, opting to just dance and hum instead. Jack was watching him, drinking him in. How he moved with his notes and how deep they came from within his chest. Their eyes met and Mark’s humming stretched out. He summoned notes out of nowhere and gave them to Jack, showered him with them. He basked in it like a plant tasting sunshine.

Their dancing soon turned to swaying. Mark’s hand trailed down Jack’s arm, fingers gracing the inside of his wrist before grasping his hand. Jack’s other hand rested on the back of Mark’s shoulder while that arm held him close. His humming faded out, but they continued to sway. Jack thought to himself that he might be able to hear Mark’s heartbeat this close to him.

Mark closed his eyes, trying to clear his head of everything but _this_. Nothing but this mattered to him, nothing but Jack. Only his breath under his shirt and his hand in Mark’s. He closed his eyes and imagined being married to him, sharing a bed and apartment with him. Mark pictured himself and Jack in pristine suits, holding hands and making vows. He imagined sunlight in Jack’s hair and skin, a small smile on his lips.

Then, Mark remembered why he had kept those thoughts from himself. It felt like his heart was ripped from him, leaving his chest a raw and empty.

Resting his head on Mark’s shoulder, Jack closed his eyes. He was enveloped by Mark, by his scent and his warmth, enamored by the thought of him. The cotton blend of his shirt, his skin and pheromones, the sound of his breathing. Jack would never have this again. He’d never love someone like he does Mark ever again. He’d never be held like this, never be smiled at the same way. _He would never have this again._

Mark’s heart raced. He felt like this was his last chance to tell Jack everything, down to the last drop. His last chance to hold him and be giddy about it. To spout all the romantic things Wade would roll his eyes at. Tears were already queueing up behind his eyes. He didn’t think he could do it but was already kicking himself for holding up. His courage was hiding behind his diaphragm and his syllables were trapped below the lump in his throat.

“Jack...,” he managed, voice quiet and heavy.

He shook his head. “Don’t.” He swallowed and said, “I know what you’re going to say.” He bit his lip, brows gathered in pain. “Don’t.”

Mark’s voice was thick with tears. “But there’s so much I need to tell you, I--”

“Please,” Jack said. “ _Please_. Just let us have this. To enjoy. Untainted.”

Mark held him tighter. He pressed his face into Jack’s hair and closed his eyes. Tears dripped onto Jack’s shirt. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I fell in love.”

Jack swallowed a sob, gripping a fistful of Mark’s shirt. The sound was too sharp and loud and made the air irreparably open, like a wound on a surgical table. Mark held him tighter and squeezed his hand.

Was it bad that Mark wanted him to cry? He wanted Jack to weep into his shirt and sob until his throat hurt. Mark wanted to be able to hold him while he cried, for Jack to be comforted just by his touch. He wanted to know that Jack was hurting just as much as he was, that he could shed as many tears as him.

Jack wouldn’t allow himself to make that noise again. Not this close to Mark. Not in a room a quiet as the one they stood in. Crying that loudly was like being naked in front of a million people, all eyes on him. It was being guilty of his own dumb actions, admitting that he’d fallen in love, too. He had made that anguished, miserable, pitiful noise because he loved him too, but was filled with more remorse than he could fathom. That noise was all he could do in return. That was his “ _I love you, too._ ”

Jack finally loosened his grip. He kept his head down as he stepped out of Mark’s embrace, not wanting to see his face and the tears that surely littered his cheeks. He cleared his throat, regret hitting him before he even spoke.

“I think we should sleep in our separate dorms,” Jack said. “Alone.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, in case the other teachers come back early tomorrow.”

 _You don’t mean that_ , Mark thought at him bitterly. _You’re sparing yourself._

“Okay,” he said instead, voice thick and hurt. “Okay. Yeah, sure.” He spat, “Makes sense.”

Jack shook his head. He didn’t have the energy or the will to argue with Mark or talk him into it. Of course, he knew Mark was only bitter because he was heartbroken, but Jack couldn’t even console himself. He just wanted to crawl into his bed and pretend they’d be alright.

The air was heavy as they made their way up the stairs. Too much was left unsaid to even begin. Jack approached his door, but paused when he grasped the handle. He hadn’t heard Mark climb the rest of the stairs.

Then, there they were, slow, tentative steps to Jack’s side. Mark’s hand brushed his wrist. He pulled his hand back to grip his own arm, just above the elbow.

Jack reluctantly tore his gaze away from the floor to find Mark’s eyes. They looked bigger in the dark, amplified with pain. Jack’s bottom lip quivered and he stopped it with his teeth. The grip he had on his own arm shifted, wrinkling his sleeve.

Brows furrowed and nearly impatient, Jack shifted his weight from foot to foot. He didn’t want to see either of them like this for any longer than he had to.

Mark started with a step forward and hand around Jack’s waist to the small of his back. His other hand graced his cheek, gaze unwavering. And Jack was putty under it, leaning into him. Mark’s body and his energy, and how those melded into one when he moved in to kiss him, were irresistible. Delectable. And then there was the kiss. When their energies became one.

The moment was tender and honest, a reliving of the past week. Mark was reminded of their first kiss and Jack thought of when Mark had cuddled him from behind while he cooked. All the smiles they shared and love they felt was there. Their memories held them there and tried to keep them frozen in time.

Then, they parted, and all the dead air sunk back in. The hallway was silent, empty except for the two of them, brokenhearted and at a loss. Mark squeezed Jack’s hands for what was surely the last time before releasing them and turning to head up the stairs. Jack watched him leave for as long as he could handle.

The dorm door closed behind him, Jack dropped his head and grit his teeth. He stumbled to his desk and grabbed a pencil, but no words could be summoned from within him. All that he could think was ‘hurt’. All he could write was ‘hurt’. All he felt was _hurt_. No other words to support it, no metaphors or comparisons. Just heartache and pain and _oh-God-why-make-it-stop_.

He threw the pencil across his desk with a smothered shout. This was just how it was going to be now, he guessed. This was life. Bliss, only to be struck down again. Agony until he couldn’t write about it anymore. _That’s life_ , he thought. He let out a dry laugh.

 _Sure. Life_.


	20. Empty Pages and Winded Bones

Mark had grown used to the feeling of waking up cold. The chilled, empty feeling as he realized he was alone. His sheets felt harsh against his skin, unwashed and wrinkled, and the cheap mattress seemed thinner and lumpier. His pillows were stiff, as were his tired muscles that encased weary and winded bones.

At first, Mark hadn’t changed his sheets because he’d wanted to hold on to Jack’s scent in them, the trace of his presence. But it had grown to be out of laziness and his own returning sorrow that he put it off. Every time he thought about changing the sheets, he was reminded of why he hadn’t before.

So, he sulked at his desk and slept restlessly in the bed. At least he’d been more focused on his work, trying to distract himself from the obvious (he was trying to see the silver lining).

Mark was awake and studying the corners of his ceiling when his alarm went off. He laughed dryly to himself, a sharp breath through his nose. _Of course I’m up before my alarm,_ he thought.

He threw off his lukewarm covers and faced the cold air of the dorm. He silenced his phone and shook his head at the time. 5:01. An ungodly hour to be awake, he knew, but Mark had accepted it as his reality. He didn't have to worry about talking to anyone (meaning: a certain someone) when he woke this early.

After a brisk shower, Mark dressed and brewed a pot of coffee in the community kitchen. Every few moments, he glanced over his shoulder at the kitchen door, even though he knew no one would be there. He knew no one would smile at him sleepily and push creamer towards him. No one would stroke his arm with a quiet “good morning” and no one would insist on tea instead. No one would hum while they cooked bacon and eggs and let Mark wrap his arms around them.

Footsteps approached the kitchen. Mark’s heartbeat picked up in a way that made his stomach sink at the same time.

It wasn’t Jack. Mark made awkward eye contact that he was sure lasted too long before turning away. He grabbed the pot and filled up his to-go mug.

The teacher, and housemate, he supposed, thanked him for making coffee. “I was expecting to have to brew it myself,” he said, filling his own mug. “I’m usually the first one up around here.”

Mark internally scrunched his nose at the man’s voice. Nasal-y and on the verge of arrogant. He was the advanced algebra teacher, and Mark felt sorry for his students. That was not a voice he wanted to hear first thing in the morning.

He shrugged and held his shoulders there for a second, easing an ache he didn’t know was there. “New year,” Mark said, “new schedule.” _New problems, new worries, new heartache..._

The algebra teacher nodded with a sip of his coffee, then swallowed with a cringe. “Oof. That’s a bit strong, there, buddy.”

Mark held back a string of cusses with a slight squint. He turned on his heel and grabbed his jacket, muttering something about an early class this semester. He only realized when he got to his classroom that he had left his mug on the counter. Then, he let out his string of swears.

 

 

Jack had spent the weekend with a pen in his hand and an open notebook on his desk. Nothing came to him, no matter how many old tricks he tried. Lists and rhyme exercises, forcing life into objects around him. All for naught. Empty pages sat before him, no matter how hard he willed them to be filled.

The only time he left his desk that weekend was to return the fairy lights to his student's dorm, hopefully before they had arrived. A wave of anxiety hit him as he tread down the stairs, worried about how he'd get the lights from Mark's room. That feeling turned into a deeper, bluer feeling as he found the bundle of Mark's lights in the floor below the window that was framed with the other strings. Jack frowned at them and tugged the lights down, insides feeling like stones. He returned the lights to the student's dorm and put them up to the best of his recollection, then made himself sleep the rest of the day.

When the semester started, Jack spent as much time as he could away from the teachers’ hall. Although he stayed later in the mornings, he found himself staying until evening at his classroom desk and longer in the auditorium. He could hardly bare to return to his own dorm most nights, dreading the wave of memories he knew he’d be drenched in upon entrance. Everything in his room reminded him of Mark, from his bed to his stash of granola bars. The sight of those things brought a swell in his chest which was all too quickly extinguished. Like receiving a gift only to have it swatted out of your hands; finding a match in the dark only for the wind to suck the flame away. It left him in dull despair, even as he tried constantly to distract himself.

Every night since Monday, when he’d return to his dorm and glance at his desk, thinking about dissecting what keeps him up at night into words, he would shrug it off. He didn’t have the energy, he'd tell himself. He'd had too long of a day or needed to eat; he had too many excuses. Nothing would come to him if he tried anyway; his pen didn’t sit as easily in his hand.

One evening, after Jack had done all he could in his classroom (solving a student’s confiscated Rubik’s cube), he headed to the auditorium. There was a faint glow of daylight still in the sky as he climbed the few steps. Much to his surprise, Danny exited the building as he reached the top step.

“Hey, man!” he said. “I haven’t seen you since I got back!" He hugged Jack without asking and he patted his back half-heartedly in response. "And you haven’t been answering my texts either, asshole.” He punched Jack’s arm with a chuckle. “I’m just messing with you. What’s up? How _are_ you?” He leant closer and whispered, “How are things with _Mark_?”

Jack looked straight to his feet. “You can figure.”

“Oh, so you _did_...” Dan raised his eyebrows and winked a few times. “Good, right?”

“ _No_ , I--” Jack kicked the hand rail. “No. It’s not like that." He pushed his hands further into his coat pockets. "It wasn’t.”

Dan frowned. “You alright, Jack?” He tilted his head, trying to find Jack’s eyes. “You look down. Do you need to talk?” He patted his arm and started for the stairs. “Let me take you out for a couple drinks. That oughtta warm your fingertips and get you talking.”

Jack shook his head, sight set on the teachers’ hall in the distance. “I’ll take a rain check,” he said. “Thanks, though.” He descended the steps without another glance to Dan.

 

 

“Are you okay?”

Mark turned over in his bed, phone pressed to his ear. “Quite a way to greet your friend, there, Wade.”

Wade laughed once. “Sorry, I just...” He exhaled, making a big mess on the receiver. “I know what New Year’s was and you haven’t called since before then... I thought you would've called me by now, and I was starting to get worried. You always want to talk. I know you need to."

Mark made a noise between a hum and a grunt.

“ _Are_ you okay?” Wade asked.

Mark closed his eyes and emptied his lungs. “I don’t think so.”

Wade let out a breath. “Why haven’t you called me?”

“Because I forgot,” Mark said. “’Cause I knew if I called, we’d only talk about it, and I didn't want to. And I’ve been doing okay, I think.”

“'Okay' how?” Wade asked. “'Okay' as in dealing with it or 'okay' as in your trademark suppression and pretending nothing happened?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Bullshit,” Wade said.

“Fine,” Mark said. “But it’s my trademark for a reason.”

Wade rolled his eyes. “You need to talk about it.”

Mark frowned. “I’d rather not.”

After a moment, Wade asked, “Did things go bad?”

“Yes,” Mark said. “Well, no. It was--I don’t--” He exhaled and sat up. “It went fine, no fighting or anything, it was just..." He rubbed the top of his head. "It felt like we were giving up. And it _hurt_. It felt like I ate a set of kitchen knives, and then it went into my bloodstream, and then into my heart. And then I survived, but didn't deserve it.”

“I’m so sorry," Wade said. "Have you seen him since?”

“Only once,” he said, “and it was across campus during lunch. I don’t think he saw me.”

“Were you stalking him?”

“God, no. Jesus, Wade, who do you think I am? Of course not.”

“Sorry,” Wade said. “You just sounded weirdly relieved that he didn’t see you.”

“Well, yeah, because...” Mark stood from his bed and paced what little floor he had. “It hurt so much seeing him. Salt in the wound, you know? And I--" He squeezed his eyes shut. "I don’t want him to have to feel that, too.” His voice was thickening with oncoming tears. “He already looked so miserable.”

Wade was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, Mark,” he muttered.

He sniffled, shaking his head. "The kick in the ass is that it's my fault,” Mark said. “That’s the worst part about it. I did this to us.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m the fucking dunce that asked him,” Mark said. “And he even said it that night--‘The school board doesn’t let teachers date.’ _But I pressed on_.” Mark involuntarily picked up his pace.

“Hey, you can’t blame yourself,” Wade said. “You didn’t know that you two would fall in love. And Jack could’ve said ‘no’. It's not your fault.”

Mark shook his head. “No. No, it was all me; I wasn’t taking no for an answer.” He rubbed his forehead and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m such an _idiot_! God!” He kicked his desk.

“Whoa, Mark, are you okay?”

“No!” He kicked his bed frame. “Fucking stop asking! No. I’m not fucking okay.”

Wade was stunned into silence. “I’m sorry, I just--”

“No,” Mark said. “Don’t apologize. I know you just want to help, but, _dammit_ , Wade, I’m miserable. And you can’t help me. At all.”

After a moment, Wade said, “I want to, though. And I want you to know you can talk to me, especially when you’re miserable. You shouldn’t be alone feeling like that.”

Mark was silent as he sat on his bed. “Thanks.”

“You should drive over for the weekend,” Wade said. “Or I can come pick you up. Stay with me and Molly and recharge a bit.”

“That’s okay,” Mark said. “I appreciate it, though.”

Wade shrugged. “Just want to let you know it’s an option.”

“Thanks,” Mark said.

“It’s what I’m here for.”

Mark let silence grow between them, cooling himself off. After a few deep breaths, his anger disappeared, but only on the surface. It felt like his rage had manifested into a pot of water near boiling under his lungs, shaking and bubbling every time he thought of it, like poking at hot embers. He swallowed, hoping to calm it in some way.

“Well,” Mark said, then cleared his throat, “I’ve got early classes this semester...”

“Yeah,” Wade said. “Yeah, 'course. I won’t keep you. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for reading, and thank you for getting this far!! It really means so much that people enjoy this story, even enough just to see how it ends. Thanks!!
> 
> I've been tight on posting every week, and therefore haven't been able to edit the chapters as thoroughly as possible, so if you see any typos, please, please, please let me know!! Or even any suggestions, I'd be happy to hear what you have to say! ^____^
> 
> (also, note that the next chapter is the last before the epilogue. it snuck up on me! agh!!)


	21. Resignation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to take a moment real quick to say some thanks--I did not expect so much love on this story! Everyone that's commented has been so nice and the kudos and hit counts blow my mind every time I check them. So just thank you to you reading this! I appreciate your existence :D
> 
> This is one roller coaster of a last chapter (and nearly 5000 words)! Hope you enjoy! The epilogue will be up next Thursday!! See you then, pal (^_-) --

Another week and weekend limped by. Jack finally accepted Danny’s offer for a night out after a phone-ful of texts. They went to a bar in town on Sunday but Jack didn’t drink--he knew better of it. It wouldn’t dull any pain, only make him dumber and impulsive. He knew if he got anywhere close to tipsy that he’d find himself at the door of Mark’s dorm, trying to make up for lost time.

The next night, Jack dreamt of Mark, wrapped up in his sheets and smiling at him. He remembered calling him ‘love’ a lot. Maybe that’s all he said. _“Love, love, love...”_ He held Mark’s hands and kissed him like they had in the hallway, savored him in a way he only could when dreaming. Then, all he had held back from happened at once. Bare skin and fuzzy lust.

He woke up sweating and with an uncomfortable situation under his duvet. He groaned into a pillow. It appeared that his mind, heart, _and_ body were miserable with the circumstances.

Mark had never really had dreams, and didn’t believe in symbolisms of them; he was a man of science. He only believed in his own despair, and hoped he’d never dream of Jack. He was sure it’d be a terrible morning, to wake up from something like that. Something filled with an emphasized emptiness, a layer of his despair that he didn’t want to explore.

To Mark, before, despair had been a frivolous word. Something reserved for princesses that lost lovers in battles and that face people on _Grey’s Anatomy_ make. Now, he knew the true weight of the word. Despair was a gray film over his eyes, an opaque piece of glass between him and the reality he refused to face. Despair was filth stuck on his skin, residue of happiness he couldn’t have anymore. Despair was beyond grief and denial, the space where you understand the well you’re in, but aren’t making an effort to climb out. It was gripping the t-shirt in his floor and holding back tears.

The shirt had been hiding beneath a part of wrinkled duvet on the floor. Mark had been making an attempt to change his sheets, but knew it wouldn’t get done as soon as he saw the static gray sliver of it. He knelt and scooped it up, remembering when Jack wore it and when he’d taken it off him. Mark allowed himself a moment to recall the color of Jacks’ skin, fair and smooth, cherry blossom pink when he blushed. That moment turned into his night, remembering touching him, craving his kiss and missing his embrace.

The sheets never got changed and the shirt remained entangled in them, where Mark thought anything the shape of Jack belonged.

 

 

The teacher’s lounge in the main school building was nothing much. It was a space bigger than their dorm rooms, but smaller than a classroom. A single table sat in the center of the room and a blocky TV was tucked in a corner behind it. Cabinets and counterspace lined the wall opposite the door with a fridge to the left and a trash bin at the other end. Two coffee pots sat near a sink, one saturated with caffeine and the other without it, stacks of paper cups littered around them.

Everything in the room was gray, from the chairs to the ceiling to the specks in the tile floor. It made whoever that entered blander under its stark lighting.

Danny settled into a stiff plastic-and-metal chair at the table with a sip of his coffee. His nose scrunched up and swore. “Why Thursday?” Danny asked dramatically. “Who gets in here and ensures it’s terrible _every_ _Thursday_? My own piss tastes better than this.”

Jack chuckled, stirring his coffee with a plastic knife. “That’s why I load mine with sugar,” he said, taking a seat opposite him. “And how would you know what your own piss tastes like?” He raised an eyebrow as he took a sip from his cup.

“Like you’ve never been curious.”

Jack snickered, nearly choking. Dan laughed until Jack could join him.

“We should start a petition for them to get one of those single-serves,” Jack said.

Dan’s eyes widened, humming into his cup. “Yes!” he said. “Every teacher here would sign that. Hell, I’d buy one myself for this sad excuse for a lounge.” He gestured around them.

Jack nodded, swirling his coffee to keep sugar from congealing in the bottom. “Y’know, I think that’s the only thing the whole staff would rally about. Coffee makers.”

Dan nodded, then giggled to himself. “Sorry, I’m just imagining all the teachers gathered in front of the administrative office with picket signs, chanting.”

Jack laughed and started thinking up possible chants, but was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. He glanced up, then found himself unable to look away.

Mark had stepped in, head down. He closed the door behind him.

“Hey, Mark!” Danny said.

He looked up, surprised, then paled upon the sight of Jack.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Dan said, then raised his paper cup as if he was giving a toast. “I’m ready the weekend, how ‘bout you?”

Mark stood like a deer in headlights under Jack’s gaze. “Um.” He broke eye contact with Jack, opting to stare at his shoes. “Yeah, I, um...” He cleared his throat. “Just came to get some coffee.” He nodded to the counter.

“Us, too,” Dan said, gesturing to Jack’s coffee with his own. “If you can even call it that--it’s God-awful on Thursdays.”

Mark nodded, hands in his pockets. He could feel both of their gazes on him, dragging down his body and trying to find his eyes. The feeling made his chest tight. He shifted his weight with a wish to sink into the floor and disappear.

Dan’s voice cut into the silence. “A Keurig in here sure would be great, huh?” he said, cheery tone unwavering, even as he caught a glare from Jack. “Would you sign a petition to get one for in here? Hypothetically speaking.”

Mark shrugged. “I mean, probably. I...” He glanced at the door, looking like he wanted leave.

As much as it hurt to see him, Jack didn’t want to see him go. He was so close, but his energy was all wrong, like a voice warped through a telephone. Jack felt a pull in his stomach, an urge to stand up and fix it. But he felt glued to his seat, like he was strapped to the chair and forced to watch his worst nightmare.

The burnt-coffee air remained quiet until Jack could muster up a soft and sad “How are you?”

Mark shook his head and shrugged. “As good as I could’ve expected.” He lifted his head slightly, looking at Jack through his eyelashes and over his glasses. “And you?”

“’Bout the same.” Jack’s eyes wandered over Mark’s appearance: Wrinkled button-up and unflattering slacks, tie loose and dull. Jack was sure he didn’t look any better in his jeans that could pass for dress-casual and button-up from the back of his closet. No tie hung around his neck because every time he went for one, he saw the one from the thrift shop and felt the hole in his chest get a little deeper.

They held each other’s gaze for a moment more before Mark looked away. He felt like an idiot that kept sticking his hand in the same fire because it looked pretty. He stepped back and placed a firm hand on the doorknob.

“See you around, Jack,” he said. The door shut behind him with a firm _click_.

Jack stared at it. He cleared his throat and willed the thick knot in his throat away, knowing his eyes were reddening by the second. _Not here_ , he thought. _Not in front of Dan._

“Well, that was...,” he said, “intense.” He nudged Jack’s arm from across the table. “What was that, man? Are you guys okay? Trouble in paradise?”

Jack blinked and blinked, jaw set. He shook his head. “I don’t--I-I...” He took a breath and licked his lips. “We don’t need to talk about it.”

Dan rolled his eyes with an exhale. “Sure we don’t. Are you guys pissed at each other or something?”

Jack stood, shaking his head. “I’ve gotta get back to class.” He made uneven steps to the door.

“No, wait,” Dan said, standing with him. “Jack!” He caught the door just before it closed and followed him as he hightailed it to his classroom.

Jack glared at him, leaning one hand on his desk. “What?”

Dan’s mouth hung open for a second, surprised for a moment by his anger. “What happened back there?”

Jack glanced at the ceiling. “Get out of my classroom,” he said.

“No,” he said. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

“Am I not talking right now?” Jack asked. “Read my lips: Get out of my fucking classroom.”

“No. Okay? No. I’m your friend, I want to help you. You don’t know how awful your energy has been lately, or how miserable you two looked--”

“Maybe I fucking do, Dan.” Jack’s voice dropped to a whisper to stop his voice from cracking. “Maybe I can fucking tell when me and the man I love are miserable.”

Dan’s brows lifted, then furrowed, mouth agape. “You guys were in love?” he asked. He searched Jack’s eyes, only for him to look away. “Jack, I-- _Why?_ Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because maybe I fucking couldn’t,” he said through gritted teeth. “Maybe it’s fucking hard for me to shout it from the rooftops when... When I can’t...” He rubbed tears out of his eyes. “When we can’t even be together.”

“I’m so sorry, I...” Dan shook his head. “I thought you guys were just a fling, I-I thought you guys were still together.” He exhaled and shook his head.

Jack shook his head, chin tucked into his chest.

“Do you hate him?” Dan asked. “Did you have a fight and break up? Is that the problem?”

“The problem...” Jack shook his head and let out a dry laugh to the ceiling. “The problem isn’t that I hate him, Dan. It’s that I love him too damn much.” He pressed his fists into his eyes.

“Oh, Jack...” Dan placed a hand on his shoulder. “Look, man. I know you’re afraid of getting fired for it, but... there’s still a way.”

Jack looked up with disbelief. “How? Hide it? Pretend we’re not together around everyone else?”

“Yeah,” Dan said. “Look, man, it’s not that hard. When me and Mark had our little thing, we ran around and no one suspected a thing. You guys can crash at my place and--”

Jack’s head had snapped up. He stared with a fire at Dan, everything clicking into place. “You and Mark have a _thing_?” _No,_ Jack thought, _an escapade._ “Oh, my God.” He stepped out of Dan’s grasp. “That’s why you were so insistent on me sleeping with him.” He cringed, hands in his hair. “ _That’s_ why you were weird about him being good in bed-- _you knew!_ I can’t believe you.” He took another step back and stumbled into one of the student’s desks.

“I-I thought you knew,” Dan said. “I’m sorry, I--” He shook his head.

“So you kept this from me the whole time? You-you _lied_ to me and were, what, trying to get him some ass while you were away?”

“No, it’s not like that, I swear. Calm down and let me explain.”

“Get out,” Jack said, voice low.

“But I can--”

“Out!” he shouted, pointing to the door. He couldn’t bear to look at Dan, and only moved when he heard the door close.

He sat at his desk and glanced over it, wanting to throw something. He wanted to break stuff and shout and let himself fume. Then, a wave of sorrow hit him and he thought better of it. He sat down and fought back tears.

So much swirled through his head, different situations and conclusions trying to draw themselves together. He rubbed his temples in an attempt to quieten the mess. He shook his head and glanced at the clock. The classroom was nowhere near a good place to sort this out. Two more classes and then he’d be able to crawl up in his bed and cry to his sisters about this. Two more classes.

 

 

The evening was a wet kind of cold, thick like the muck on the sides of the streets and pathways. The air was slightly sweet and smooth, but Jack’s bitter palate was too stubborn to notice. All he saw was ice and snow clouds, all he felt was a swirling, burning, sick feeling in his stomach.

He had walked to the auditorium, but didn’t climb the steps. If Dan wanted to talk to him, he’d surely be beyond the doors. And the steps... Looking at them brought a heavy feeling to his chest. He wasn’t sure if the memory of Mark asking him for the ‘free trial’ was a good one or not. Right then, it just kicked more dust into the tornado in his gut.

The remembrance of that night pulled at something in Jack’s mind. Mark had seemed so genuine, confessing his feelings--he had stormed out of the house in his socks, for Christ’s sake. With all of this at the forefront of his thoughts, it momentarily dispelled Jack’s worry of Mark’s relationship with Dan having existed then.

That comfort was soon lost as Jack thought back to one of his first mornings with Mark, when he’d been texting Dan. Mark had gone on about him, about his talent and looks. Something sour twisted within Jack. _Jealousy_ , he realized. He tilted his head and squinted at the tree line in the distance. _But am I jealous of Mark or Dan?_

Jack shook his head. Both, he supposed, for being able to have a romantic/sexual relationship and come out of it unscathed.

 _But, does that mean they were in love?_ When Dan had mentioned being in love, how sex was better with it in the mix, they had been talking about Mark. Had Danny meant Mark? Perhaps they _were_ still together, and Danny didn’t mind what had happened over break. Though, Jack didn’t see him as the polyamorous type, at least in the sense of being in love and sharing someone like that. He definitely wouldn’t encourage Jack like he had been.

Maybe, then, they _were_ a fling and could just survive ‘no strings attached’. That made sense on different levels. It didn’t explain why neither told him, though. That was by far the most suspicious thing about this situation.

Jack gripped his hair and grunted out a breath. All this guessing was going to rip his head in half. He turned around and started towards the teachers’ hall, knowing there was only one person he trusted to clear this up.

The mess of emotions in his stomach evolved into anxious static as he entered the building through the kitchen. After tugging his coat off and nodding a silent greeting to the teacher microwaving dinner, he made his way up the stairs. To the room he’d grown to know as well as his own (or at least the bed). Third floor, second door on the right.

As Jack reached the last flight of stairs, a knock startled him. He slowed his pace.

Danny was standing at Mark’s door. He knocked ‘shave and a haircut’ into the wood and sighed. Jack crept back down the stairs, so that Dan wouldn’t see him but he could still hear.

“C’mon, you can’t be sleeping _this_ early, man,” he heard Danny say, then the sound of the door opening.

There was a small silence before Mark’s voice rang through the open door. “Danny? What the hell?” Sheets rustled and the bed creaked. “Did I say you could come in?” Mark asked, annoyed and tired. Jack  held in a giggle at the sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“Well,” he heard Danny say, “if you wanted people to stay out of your room, you should’ve locked the door.” Jack peeked up and saw Dan leaning in the doorway. “I was thinking you might need some company. Y’know a little distraction for the night.”

Mark let out a breath. “I don’t need a distraction.”

“Sounds to me like you do,” Dan said. Jack rolled his eyes at his cocky persistence. “Just come get a drink with me. C’mon.”

“No,” Mark said. “What makes you think...?” Jack heard him sigh. “No, I don’t need to drink.”

“Oh, come on,” Dan said. “Just some juice? Some coffee that isn’t piss-flavored?”

Silence ensued. Jack pictured Mark’s face, tired and sad, annoyed but appreciative of Dan’s company. He thought that maybe he should leave, and the guilty pool in his stomach confirmed. But something was compelling him to stay. Maybe he’d just wait until Mark told Danny off and he left...

“Why are you here?” Mark asked.

“Why I said I was here. To offer a distraction.” A soft footstep could be heard, muffled by the thick, hard carpet that made up the dorm building’s floors. “Look, I know the thing today with Jack was hard on you--I know it was on him.” Jack grit his teeth. “And I hate seeing you miserable.” He heard the bed creak and felt blood rush to his head. _Dan on Mark’s bed._ “I know it’s tough, believe me. But I just want to see you happy again. At least for a few minutes.” Dan lowered his voice, but Jack could still hear him. “Let me distract you for a bit.”

Then, all Jack could hear was his own heartbeat in his ears. Was he hearing what he thought he was hearing? He took a few steps and scanned the hall to find it empty. He watched the open door, afraid of the assumptions his mind had jumped to.

He heard Mark mumble something. Then, clearer, “Okay. Guess I could use it.”

“Yes!” was Danny’s response, along with the sound of him springing off the bed. Jack let out the breath he’d been holding. “First things first, though...”

Jack heard the rustling of fabric and creak of the bed. Then, Dan’s voice.

“I can’t believe I didn’t try this sooner, Mark. Oh, God, I’m sorry. C’mon, let’s get you into something more comfortable.”

And the door closed.

Jack stood shocked, eyes trained on the door. Then, his gaze fell and his knees buckled. He landed on the stairs, shaking. He thought to himself that it felt like he’d been stabbed, but as the sick pit in his stomach grew, it felt more like poison. Eating him alive, then fueling his feet as he bolted away.

 

 

“Mr. Fischbach,” the headmistress said when he entered the doorway. “Please,” she gestured to the chairs in front of her, “sit.”

Mark slowly made his way to the old, stiff chair. “Ma’am,” he said. “May I ask why you called me here?”

She laced her fingers on her desk. “Your two-week notice was on my desk this morning,” she said. “I thought I deserved an explanation.”

Mark bowed his head. “It’s a long story.”

The headmistress held her hands out nonchalantly. “I’ve got time.”

“It’s personal,” Mark said.

“I assumed as much,” she said.

Mark glanced at her over his glasses. She watched him carefully, like a hawk watching its prey. There was almost something motherly about her gaze, but it was cancelled out by the air of intimidation she emitted. He understood why the students feared her.

“Did you get an offer from a different school?”

“No,” Mark said. “I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t absolutely have to, ma’am.”

“Then, why must you?” she asked. “You’re a fine educator. There are no complaints from students or your fellow teachers. We’re glad to have you here.”

“Look,” Mark said. “If this is you offering me more money to stay, I’m declining.” He nudged his glasses higher on his nose. “I don’t want money.”

She nodded as if she understood something he didn’t. “Then,” she asked, speaking slowly, “what is it that you want?”

Mark swallowed. He wiped his expression blank and kept her gaze. “I want to get back to my classroom and wait for my students.”

The headmistress leant back in her large desk chair. “What strange timing... The semester just started.” She laced her fingers, elbows on the armrests of the chair. “Surely, this was something you thought up during the winter break?” She raised a curious brow at Mark’s crumbling façade.

He remained silent.

“Well, it must’ve been contagious.” She pulled a file from a drawer and dropped between them. “McLoughlin left his resignation at the front desk last night.”

Mark stared wide-eyed at the file. It was Jack’s job, his livelihood, an unspoken act of devotion tucked into a manila folder. He didn’t understand it. What had tipped him over, he wondered? The moment in the breakroom? And why hadn’t he contacted Mark?

The headmistress leant forward, resting her elbows on the desk. “Is there something I should know about the two of you?”

Mark felt sweat prickle at his neckline. He hadn’t realized how suspicious it would look to resign. And he definitely hadn’t thought Jack would. How could he have? Mark was under the impression that Jack wouldn’t quit his job for anything.

The headmistress merely watched him, right brow arched slightly. The corner of her mouth lifted, like she might’ve been enjoying seeing him squirm.

Mark traced the shape of her oak desk with his eyes. What had happened the night before that made Jack up and leave like that? And why hadn’t he come to Mark? He’d been in his dorm all night, letting Dan fuss over his messy room and brew him coffee. What had he missed?

“Did he say anything else?” Mark asked. “In his resignation. Did he say why he left?”

She shook her head. “Only that he’d be leaving.”

Mark exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. He had a sick feeling in his stomach. Something was wrong.

He stood and started for the door, but was called back just as he grabbed the handle.

“ _Mr. Fischbach_.” She stared him down until he released his grip. “We are not finished here. Sit back down.”

Mark’s legs felt numb, like all the blood had rushed out of them. He didn’t look up as he walked back to the chair, focusing on his feet and knees.

She let a moment tick by with a wistful gaze at her bookcase to Mark’s left. “Tell me,” she said, leaning forward, “what compels you to quit your job for a boyfriend?” Her eyes softened in a way that still didn’t let down any defenses. “With nothing to fall back on? I thought I hired smarter men.”

Mark stared at his shoes. “With all due respect, ma’am, it’s not your decision.” He met her gaze evenly. “And it’s not your place to judge.”

“If you think this is about homophobia, you misunderstand,” she said. “ _You_ , a smart, educated man gave me your two-week notice. Mr. McLoughlin left campus at noon.”

“What?” Mark asked, eyes wide.

She nodded once. “As soon as the substitute got here.”

Mark stood from his chair, knocking it back a few feet. “Do you know where he went?”

She shook her head. “All I know is that he won’t be getting a good recommendation wherever he ends up.”

It took all Mark had not to glare at the headmistress.

“Please,” she said, standing with him, “consider staying. At least until the end of the school year. We can negotiate your pay raise when you’ve come to your decision.”

Mark stared at his hand as it gripped the back of the chair. “Thank you. May I be excused?”

“Yes.”

Mark made a break for the door.

“--But,” she said, holding his gaze as he glanced over his shoulder, “I want you to know something. If you and McLoughlin had come to me, if you had sat in my office and told me you wanted to date,” she exhaled, “you would have had a chance to keep your jobs.” She watched as Mark’s shoulders slumped. “It’s too late now. McLoughlin won’t get his job back and you... You’ve lost a lot of respect from me.”

Mark bowed his head. “Can I go now?”

“I’m sorry, Mark,” the headmistress said. “I hope you decide to stay.”

He left without another word.

 

 

_“...But I just want to see you happy again. At least for a few minutes.” Dan placed a hand on Mark’s shoulder and squeezed. He leant a smidge closer and said, “Let me distract you for a bit.”_

_Mark suppressed a sigh, knowing Dan wouldn’t take no for an answer (and craving a good cup of coffee now, thanks to him). “Fine.”_

_Dan pumped a fist in the air._

_“Only coffee, though,” he muttered, giving Dan a stern look through his eyelashes. He responded with a grin and a nod. Mark spoke before he could. “Then... okay. Guess I could use it.”_

_“Yes!” Dan exclaimed, jumping from the bed. “First things first, though...” He held out a hand to Mark, then pulled him out of the bed._

_The duvet fell to the floor, revealing Mark’s wrinkled clothes. Dan shook his head at him, obviously displeased that he was still dressed in his work outfit._

_“I can’t believe I didn’t try this sooner, Mark,” he said, tugging at his button-up to straighten it. He wrinkled his nose at Mark’s nearly undone tie, then pulled it lose. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.” He dropped it to the floor like it was a used tissue. “C’mon,” he said, turning to the closet, “let’s get you into something more comfortable.”_

_In one swift motion, Dan opened Mark’s closet and kicked the dorm door closed. He then proceeded to flip through what little else there was, murmuring, “You_ cannot _feel better looking like that. At least brush your hair. Christ.”_

 

 

Mark had searched the campus all afternoon, looking for any trace of Jack. No one knew where he went, none of their housemates or co-workers. Mark had even asked a few of Jack’s students, but all they had to offer were furrowed brows and shakes of their heads.

After he’d wrapped up his classes, Mark tracked down Danny. At the mention of Jack, he received the guiltiest, most sympathetic look he’d ever seen. Dan confessed that he’d accidentally told him about their past. Mark’s heart dropped to his feet.

“He took it totally the wrong way,” Dan had said. “I guess that’s why he left.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You should try calling him.”

And he had, of course. He called and called and called, leaving voicemail after voicemail. He texted until he ran out of words.

Then Wade called, his telekinetic abilities never seeming to fail. He listened to him cry, but couldn’t offer anything but sympathy (and a string of profanities concerning ‘that damn drama teacher’). He managed to keep Mark on the phone until he arrived at the campus, and helped him finish packing a weekend bag.

Now, Mark lay in the guest bedroom, queen-size mattress too big. He glanced around. The walls were bare and the floor was uncluttered, save his duffel bag by the door. His charging phone sat next to a lamp on the bedside table. The other side of the bed held nothing but cold, unfamiliar sheets. He stretched an arm across it. The gold-and-red duvet was heavy on his stiff body. He pulled it up to his chin. The sheets smelled like Downy and Wade’s house, the cracked window breathing the crisp night into the room. Mark couldn’t find refreshment in it. The air was just space. Empty. His bed was just a mattress covered in fabric. Empty. His heart kept on beating in his chest, and his lungs expanded and deflated. He still felt a raw, whistling hole there that had spread to his abdomen. _Empty_.

This was how he lived now, he supposed. And this was how he had to go on. Empty bed, empty chest, cluttered brain. He was without the energy to fight his fate, a type of tired that couldn’t be cured by sleep. Cold and hungry for things he couldn’t have, forever without happiness in his grasp. Lost without someone he hadn’t known he needed. Without a singing/dancing partner, without a space heater, without a Sun in the sky.

Without Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DONT HATE ME YET DONT HATE ME YET THERES STILL THE EPILOGUE HUSH ITLL ALL WORK OUT


	22. Epilogue: 'Later'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ending is kind of out there, but I'm satisfied with it!! I hope you are, too. Thanks for reading, pal! Enjoy!!

It was a strange sensation, getting over heartbreak. Mark thought it’d be like a switch or a shift back to how he felt before meeting Jack (which is something he couldn’t remember at this point), but it wasn’t. It was slow, and only as painful as he made it, which was the biggest surprise.

Eventually, after months of harder-than-it-had-to-be grieving, he stopped thinking about Jack every minute. The first time Mark went without thinking about him for the whole day, it had driven him crazy, like he’d left something important at home. He only realized late that night, when his tired brain had allowed him, that the thing he’d been missing was the thought of Jack. He nearly wept at the implication. At the fact that all Jack could be to him was a thought, yes, but mainly at the idea that he was getting over Jack. Although he knew it was a healthy, natural thing to be not heartbroken over him, it stung that he was losing the last sliver of Jack he had, too. The thought of him was all that was left.

Time pushed on regardless, and Mark followed its wake--he had to. There were forces beyond his own that saw to it that he kept forward.

And the handoff from heartbroken to not wasn’t sudden like the bolt of happiness he thought he’d have. He simply woke up one morning, went to make coffee, and decided on tea instead. Then, he remembered Jack and it brought a smile to his face. No pain staggered through his heart, no trace of a hole in his chest. It felt like revelation or epiphany, a wash of calm over him. He wasn’t sad and didn’t know when he’d stopped feeling it. He just knew he was okay, and that Jack had been in his life and he was happy for it.

That foremost happiness didn’t last long, as it gave way to the memory of how he’d left. It didn’t fill him with sorrow, only regret. Disappointment in his lungs and anxiety in his guts. For the first time since that first week without him, Mark wondered what it must’ve felt like for Jack. To believe that your friend and your boyfriend had been seeing each other behind your back. _God,_ Mark thought, holding his stomach. _No wonder he left._ He felt the phantom of that emotion, the betrayal and anger that came with it, the sadness that sits on one’s stomach like a rock. In that moment, as Mark leant on the counter, he knew he should’ve tried harder to right what had happened, that he should’ve given Danny the earful he deserved. Mark’s head dropped. He should’ve gotten over his own dumb fears and told Jack during the break.

That evening, he’d driven to Wade’s and strung together his thoughts the best he could. When he dwelled on his regrets, Wade had placed a sturdy hand on his shoulder and assured him that the past was the past. “Nothing can be done about it,” he’d said. “And you said it yourself--you’re glad you met Jack. That’s good.” He removed his hand. “And I think you two broke up for a reason. Things like that-- _heartbreak_ like that--doesn’t happen without a reason. Think about that old quote: ‘If you love someone, set them free...’”

“Do you really think that applies in this case?” Mark had asked.

Wade shrugged. “Do you? I mean, you truly loved him, and I think he loved you, too. If it’s really meant to be, he’ll come back. Or you’ll come back to him. Don’t you want to believe that?”

Mark mulled over his words as Wade took a smug drink of coffee. “The last time you told me a quote like that, I was a pre-heartbreak mess,” he had told him.

Wade didn’t lower his mug, gazing at Mark with a confident raise of his brow. “But I was right, wasn’t I?”

 

 

Mark hadn’t quit his job at the boarding school. Even though his greatest enemies, both manifested and internalized, remained there. He moved off-campus quickly and accepted the pay raise.

The transition wasn’t terrible (in retrospect). Mark didn’t have much to move, and the basement he moved in to was quaint, if mildew-y. It was fine by him. The older couple that owned the house liked to bake and watch _Ellen_ , the old sitcom. At the very least, none of it reminded him of what he’d lost.

And eventually, ‘what he’d lost’ turned into ‘the one that got away’ turned into ‘oh, yeah, the English teacher’. Mark remembered how to sleep alone and how to breathe when the air wasn’t Jack-flavored.

The combination of his pay raise and crummy apartment gave him a problem he’d never thought he’d have: too much money on his hands. He could’ve moved and he could’ve found a different job, but he didn’t. He saved his money and bonuses, then spent it on his friends and family. He went home to see his mom every break he had and even flew his brother over for a Christmas.

And of course, Christmas was when he liked to spend the most of his money. After years of his mother whining about how she hadn’t been on a vacation in what seemed like eternities, Mark relented. Under the tree, she found two tickets to Disneyland Paris and plane tickets with her and Mark’s names on them. She’d jumped up and shouted, then hugged Mark until he couldn’t breathe.

Now, even as Mark stood at the foot of Sleeping Beauty’s castle, in Paris of all places, he still couldn’t believe it. He felt like a kid again, running around with his mom on his spring break.

The first half of their week had been magnificent, seeing everything they could and eating everywhere even if they were full. Mark’s mother had to stop at every shop, even though she knew she’d never play with a Lego set or eat a bucket of candy. He let her explore and lead the way, as the trip had really been for her.

Midday, they found themselves in Fantasyland. After going on ‘It’s a Small World’ for the second time and meeting some princesses, they continued down the neat walkways. For a minute, when they arrived, Mark had thought that all the walking would be too much--for both of them--but he instead found it refreshing to stroll everywhere. It was beautiful out, too; it wasn’t too hot and the perfect-blue sky was cloudless.

They passed the teacup ride after Mark mentioned it (“I feel sick just looking at it”, she’d commented), but stopped at the entrance of something entitled ‘Alice’s Curious Labyrinth’.

His mother grabbed his arm to stop him from walking off. “What kind of ride is that, Mark?”

“It’s a hedge maze, Mom,” he said with a smile to her. “ _Alice in Wonderland_ themed, I think.”

“Ooh, sounds fun!” she said.

And so they entered, following a small crowd under the green archway.

Mark stood in a fighting stance. “Race to you the end?”

“Oh, you’re on!”

They counted down and took off. At the first split in the path, Mark headed straight to his right, bolting away and past other tourists. He turned corner after corner, dead-end after dead-end. And then, with the Queen of Hearts’ Castle in sight, he reached another. With a groan, he whipped back around and sprinted off again, determination fueling his steps.

In his blind spin, he ran straight into someone, knocking them both to the ground. Mark hoped to God it wasn’t his mother.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” he said, trying to prop himself up. Was the maze supposed to spin like this?

The person he’d run had muttered apologies at the same time he had, but was now beside him giggling. It rang a bell at the back of Mark’s mind. He propped himself up on an elbow and finally set his eyes on who he’d knocked down.

“Jack?”

His laughter stopped and eyes focused on him. “M-Mark?” he said, eyes wide.

“Oh, my God,” he said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t--” Mark shook his head, an inexplicable grin on his face. “Hi.”

Jack returned it, breathless. “Hi.” His smile was disbelieving and wavering, as if he was deciphering reality from dream (or dream from nightmare).

Mark stood and offered a hand to him, which he took. Now standing, face-to-face, Mark held onto his hand. Jack’s skin still felt like sunshine and he still wore the same cologne. His haircut was shorter, though, and his eyes had aged in a way. Mark wondered if it was the season--he’d always heard that people with blue eyes’ irises changed color with the seasons. And they certainly were a spring blue; crisp and clear and amplified by his widened eyes, much different than the grayer, softer blue Mark remembered.

Jack released himself from Mark’s grip. “What’re you doing here?” he asked, eyes searching and incredulous.

“Um,” Mark said with a shake of his head. “Taking my mom on vacation.” He gestured down the hedge path. “I’m supposed to be racing her to the end, actually.”

Jack chuckled, albeit stiffly. “I’m doin’ the same with my brother. I’m here with his family.”

Mark nodded, still absorbing the sight of him. It was the strangest feeling to look at him again, like the hole in his chest that he thought had sealed up over the years was filled instead of stitched up. Like honeybees and happiness in the place of cold air.

And he remembered how that hole had formed, of course; he’d never forgotten. Looking into Jack’s eyes, he could see that what he was feeling wasn’t reciprocated. This wasn’t a pleasant surprise to Jack, this was a nightmare he couldn’t’ve foreseen. Mark bowed his head unconsciously. If he were in Jack’s shoes, he would’ve run for the hills by now.

Mark took a step back. “Well, I’ve gotta reach the end before my mom,” he said with a shrug and a nod down the path.

Jack nodded, then just after Mark turned away, said, “We should look together.”

Mark glanced over his shoulder, then faced him with a surprised smile. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean.” Jack shrugged and shifted the grip he had on his own arm. “We’ll find it faster if we work together. Y’know, Disney spirit and all that?”

Mark grinned. “I suppose so.”

So, they took off back down the path. After countless dead ends and getting turned around more than once, they finally found the end. They stood at the foot of the castle and sighed a short-lived breath of victory.

“Sucka!” Mark’s mother shouted from the mouth of the castle. “I got here first! You are so late!” She danced over to Mark and poked him in the chest.

Mark could only laugh at this, then rub the back of his neck when he felt himself blushing. His mom only seemed embarrassing around his romantic interests... But when Mark glanced over, the look on Jack’s face was just joy, no mischievous glint in his eyes.

With a grin, he asked Mark, “Well, are you gonna introduce me?”

Mark gave him a relieved smile before introducing him to his mother.

“And Mom,” he said to her as she and Jack shook hands, “this is Jack. An old colleague of mine.”

“From the boarding school?” she asked. “The one that got away?”

Mark turned to the castle and rambled, “We better get going, Mom! There are a lot of steps to the top and we don’t want you to get tired out...”

Then, the man Mark could only assume was Jack’s brother came running. “Dammit!” he shouted at Jack. “Dammit, dammit, dammit. How did you beat me? I’ve done this before!”

Jack giggled with a glance at Mark. “Teamwork, I suppose?”

“I think that counts as cheating,” the presumed brother said, grinning. He held a hand out to Mark. “You’re the cheater, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah, but you can call me Mark,” he said, accepting the handshake. He introduced his mother with a gesture to her.

“Malcolm,” the brother said. He turned to Jack, barely lowering his voice. “Is this the American Mark from that boarding--?”

“Yup,” Jack said, tight-lipped. He turned to Mark. “To the top, you said?”

As a group, they climbed all the way to the top balcony. From there, all of Fantasyland could be seen with Sleeping Beauty’s Castle in the distance. Mark took a breath and absorbed the sight. He grinned. The idea that he was at Disneyland still made him giddy.

His mom felt that, too, he could tell. She looked on with glee at the park, then excitedly got out her phone to take pictures.

At the feeling of a hand on his shoulder, Mark turned around. Jack stood before him awkwardly, trying to smile.

“Hey,” he said. “We’ve got to head out now, y’know, trying to see everything here while we can.” He shrugged, hands in his pockets. “I just wanted to, I dunno.” He closed an eye at him. “It was nice seeing you. I’m glad you’re well.”

“Uh,” Mark said, “yeah, I--Yeah. You too. It’s good seeing you.”

Jack stood there, smile fading, eyes big and bright blue. Mark felt sick, but kind of like he was flying, too. The feeling was familiar, and he could only pinpoint it to Jack.

Mark glanced past him for a second to see Malcolm standing in the doorway, obviously impatient. The resemblance in them, Mark found, wasn’t in their features, but in their body language. Movements he knew all too well.

“Well,” Jack said. He nodded a farewell and began to turn away.

“We should have dinner,” Mark blurted. “At Café Mickey.”

Jack smiled, surprised but pleased, nose crinkling with his eyes. “The place at the end of Disney Village?”

Mark nodded. “Yeah.”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, then glanced at his brother. “I dunno...” He turned back to Mark and shrugged. “Fuck it. Why not?”

Mark held back a shout of glee. “Great. How about seven thirty?” He glanced over his shoulder at his mom. “We have reservations, but I’m sure she’ll understand.”

Jack grinned and said, “I won’t be a minute late.”

Mark’s grin widened. “I’ll count on it.”

Jack nodded, turned, and followed his brother back into the castle, but not before a last glance back. Mark winked at him and he looked forward, face aflame.

 

 

Mark had hoped they would fall right back into some semblance of a comfort zone, and to a certain extent, they did. They talked about the park and different rides and the weather, but conversation stilled before they’d ordered.

Mark fiddled with his glass of water. The air was getting thicker by the second, and he knew that he was the one that had to break it. His palms were balmy and his knee wouldn’t stop bouncing. _Ice breakers, ice breakers,_ he told himself. _Don’t start off too strong..._

“So, um,” Mark said. “Where’re you living now?”

“Outside of London,” Jack replied. “I moved there little over a year ago, actually. I was back home before that, living with some family.” He ran a hand over the tablecloth. “And you?”

“Still in middle-of-nowhere, Ohio,” Mark said. “Still working at the school.”

Jack’s brows lifted, then he cooled his expression. “Really?”

“Yeah, well,” Mark shifted in his seat. “I don’t live on campus anymore.”

Jack nodded, eyes on his glass as he traced the rim with his finger.

Mark cleared his throat. “What about you?” he asked. “What’re you doing for work?”

Jack shrugged. “I work at a publishing company as an editor. And...” He leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat. “I published a book.”

Mark’s jaw went slack, eyes wide. “What? Really?”

Jack smiled. “Yeah.”

“That awesome,” Mark said, grinning as wide as his face could hold. “That’s just so--wow. What’s it about?”

“Well...” Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s about this guy who...” He ran a hand down his face and exhaled. “God, it’s so weird to talk about it. It’s better on paper.”

“No, that’s not true.” Mark leaned his elbows on the table. “You’re as good a storyteller on paper as you are in person.”

Jack gave him an awkward smile and thanked him.

“So, tell me about the book,” Mark said. “I want to hear about it. But don’t spoil anything, I want to have the full experience when I read it.”

Jack laughed dryly and rolled his eyes. “Like you’d actually read it.”

Mark scoffed, hurt in the slightest. “You think I wouldn’t? I’ll buy a copy right now.”

Jack sighed with a smile. “Jesus. Okay, fine.”

Then, their waiter appeared and took their orders, and Mark asked the title of the book. Jack winced as he said it.

“The book was kind of a self-exploration,” he explained. “I feel naked just thinking about people reading it, let alone you.”

“Me?” Mark asked. “Why particularly me?”

Jack let out a breath. “Because, well. It’s you. And you’re gonna know what I mean when I reference certain things and know what traits I borrowed from you for my characters. And” he lifted his shoulders high “you’ve never really read anything I’ve written. It makes me anxious.”

“Well, that’s through no fault of my own,” Mark replied. “I didn’t think you wrote anything more than a journal, let alone novels.”

“Well, I don’t, normally,” Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I haven’t, really. That book came from a strange place in my life. I’m genuinely surprised it got published.”

“Well, what do you normally write, then?” Mark took a sip of water.

“Well--oh, God.” Jack leant his elbow on the table and put his face in his hand. “It sounds so pretentious. I don’t want to tell you.”

Mark raised a brow at him and held his gaze until Jack gave in.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I write...” He squeezed his eyes shut. “...poetry.” He opened an eye.

Mark furrowed his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth tugging down. “I don’t think that’s pretentious.”

Jack scoffed. “You’re just being nice. Poetry’s something you have to read in school, Robert Frost and Oscar Wilde until you’re sick; nobody really enjoys it.”

“Obviously, you do,” Mark said. “I mean, it wouldn’t be your preferred medium unless you enjoyed it.”

Jack shrugged. “Yeah. That doesn’t make it any less pretentious.” He took a sip from his glass.

Silence ensued, then their meal came. They ate in silence, barely speaking beyond a compliment to the food.

Then, Jack spoke. Two words that opened a conversation Mark had foolishly prayed they wouldn’t have to have.

“How’s Danny?”

Mark tensed. He had naively hoped that Jack would just know the truth by now. That over time, or just by seeing Mark, he’d know the truth. His head dipped, but he made himself meet Jack’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t know.” Mark set his fork down. “Honestly, I don’t talk to him anymore. I haven’t since... Well, since the day you left.”

Jack took a sip of water, silent.

“That’s my cue to clear things up, huh?” Mark masked an awkward laugh with a cough. He sat forward. “So, Danny and I _had_ a thing when I first got there. It was meaningless, and I’m not saying that for your sake. Really. It was just something we did, like go out for drinks or play board games. And we were friends afterward. But we never, _ever_ did anything like that again.”

Jack fiddled with his unused utensils, expressionless. “Do you mean that?” he asked. He met Mark’s gaze, eyes so cold they burned. “That you never...” He shook his head, eyes closing for a second. “After _whatever_ happened. You didn’t ever... go back for seconds?”

Mark shook his head. “Never.”

“What about after...” He swallowed. “...Us?”

Mark shook his head. “No, like I said, I don’t talk to him anymore. I couldn’t bear to even look at him, after...”

Jack stared at the tablecloth. “What about...?” He shook his head.

Mark leaned forward, eyebrows raised. “Pardon?”

“Nothing.” Jack shook his head again, closing his eyes for a second. “Guess I just... heard something wrong.”

Brow furrowed, Mark nodded once. He laced his fingers together over the table, holding Jack’s gaze.

“Listen, I-I know should’ve told you,” he said. “Believe me, I kicked myself for years for not spitting it out when I had the chance. I just--I was afraid of setting off exactly what happened. And I know it wouldn’t’ve been as bad if I’d been honest from the beginning, but... I didn’t want to lose you.” His hands fell to his lap. “And look what happened, huh?” He let out a humorless laugh.

Jack bowed his head. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re a dumbass.” He looked up to meet Mark’s surprised gaze. “But I don’t think I’m much better, making assumptions like I did.”

Mark shook his head. “I should’ve tried harder to find you, or Danny could’ve at least not told you like the ass he is.”

Jack shook his head. “No, I... I eavesdropped on a conversation you two had the night before I took off. I shouldn’t have. And I should’ve known Danny made everything sound worse; he only knows how to speak like he’s trying to coax someone into bed.”

Mark nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s really why I wanted to see you tonight, so that I could apologize. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, and I’m sorry you left. I’m sorry we didn’t go to the headmaster. We could’ve had a chance and I’m...” He exhaled. “I’m sorry.”

Jack stared at his hands. “You know,” he said after a moment, “I hated you for a long time. But...” He found his eyes. “I loved you for even longer. Even when I thought I didn’t, when I tried so hard not to. I loved you.”

“And I did you,” Mark said with a sad smile. “I hate myself for not telling you every second I could.”

Jack shook his head. “I’ve had that regret myself.”

In the silence that followed, Mark paid for the dinner. Jack didn’t argue.

Mark squirmed in his seat, mustering up courage. He had to ask Jack for another try, and was determined not to let another chance to be with him pass by, even if he was rejected. His stomach was tight and tingly, and his mouth was trying to form words before his brain had produced them.

“Listen,” Mark said. “I’m prepared to be shot down here, but... Would you maybe want to start over? Forget about--well, not forget, but, maybe _forgive_ ourselves for what happened before and-and try again.”

Jack kept his eyes on his glass, turning it with the tips of his fingers. “That’s a big question.”

“You can say no,” Mark said. “I just--I can’t leave here knowing I had this chance and didn’t try. And I know how tough it’d be, but I’m willing.” His mouth formed into a flat line. “You can reject me and be off, if that’s what you really want. I’ll accept that. I just... I need to know. I need to know I hadn’t lost another chance to be with you.”

Jack nodded, lips pursed. The silence he bred was dreadful and thick, eyes hard as he stared into the distance.

“I can’t answer that right now,” he said. “I really want to, but...” He shook his head. “I need to think about it. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Mark said. “It was just my dumbass showing.”

Jack nodded, eyes down. “It’s not a ‘no’.” He caught Mark’s gaze. “It’s a ‘try again later’.”

“What are you, a Magic 8 Ball? When is ‘later’?”

Jack made a ‘come hither’ motion with his hand. “Give me your phone.”

Mark pulled it out of his pocket, then unlocked it and slid it across the table. Jack added his number into Mark’s contacts, explaining that he’d gotten a new one when he moved.

“Call me later,” he said. “Ask me again. Hopefully I’ll have an answer.”

Mark nodded at his hands. “Alright. I will, as soon as I figure out when ‘later’ is.”

Jack handed the phone back to him. “How long are you gonna be in town?” he asked.

“Until the end of the week,” Mark answered. “You?”

“I’m stayin’ with my brother,” Jack said. “He lives not too far away.”

“Wait, he lives in Paris?”

Jack nodded. “He and his family.”

“That’s really cool,” Mark said.

Jack shrugged, smiling helplessly at his enthusiasm. “If you say so.”

“It’s only cool to me, isn’t it?” Mark asked with a chuckle.

Jack nodded with laugh. “It’s okay, though. I thought so, too, at first.”

Mark nodded, then stood and motioned for Jack to join him. They walked out to the little paved streets, but lingered for a moment.

“So,” Mark said, “is your family gonna pick you up or...?”

“They’re gettin’ a few more rides in before the park closes,” Jack said. “And you? Which hotel are you staying at?”

Mark pointed to the big, pink, castle-like building in the distance. “The main one.”

Jack’s jaw dropped. “You really went all out, huh?”

Mark nodded. “This trip was my mom’s Christmas gift and I wanted her to have the full experience.”

Jack gave him a soft smile. “That’s nice,” he said. “That’s awesome, actually.”

Mark shrugged. “It’s my mom, y’know?”

Jack nodded at his shoes with an offer to walk him back. Mark accepted with a smile.

A comfortable silence passed over them as they strolled towards the hotel. Mark observed people as he passed them, smiling at the children and their tired parents. He took in the color of the sky, the nearly-set Sun casting it orange. The rest of the sky was a darkening blue, desperately holding onto daylight, and the clouds farther out glowed pink. Mark smiled at the thought that his mom had probably already taken a thousand photos of it, the same as she had every night before.

When they reached the hotel, then Mark led them through the grand lobby to the elevator. The hallway was short, and Mark felt robbed of time when he set eyes on the door. He stopped walking, so Jack did, too. They locked eyes.

Mark took in his image, just in case it was the last time. He realized as he stared that he’d been wrong earlier in his thinking that Jack’s eyes had aged; it was quite the opposite. Everything but his eyes had, from his drabber clothes to his rougher skin. His eyes were still young and vibrant and smiling at him without using any other part of his face.

Something tickled at the back of Mark’s mind when he thought about this. He remembered how Jack would squint at him like he was now, analyzing him to find the perfect word. But if he ever found it, he never said it aloud. Mark felt like there was a perfect word for him, standing there, squinting back at him. No ordinary word like ‘gorgeous’ or ‘succulent’ would do, no...

Jack finally cracked a curious smile. “Okay...?”

Mark pursed his lips, the word he searched for forming on his tongue. “Pulchritudinous.”

Jack huffed out a breath, brow furrowed, and took a step back. “Pardon?”

“That’s it,” Mark said. “You. Pulchritudinous. It means beautiful, righ--?”

Jack kissed him and his senses came alive. It felt like a hot shower after being stuck in the rain and tasted like a first meal after being starved. It felt like a soft bed for aching bones, like finding a light switch in the dark. Mark pulled him close and held him tight. It felt like home.

When Jack finally broke the kiss, it took Mark a moment to open his eyes. He stared for a moment, dizzy and blissed-out. It was like seeing in color again.

They smiled at each other, breathless.

“Now,” Jack said. “Now is later.”

The corner of Mark’s mouth lifted. “I thought you needed to think about it.”

Jack shook his head. “Done all the thinking I need. Ask me.”

Mark grinned. “Jack, baby...” He stroked his cheek. “Try again with me?”

“Hell yes,” he said, grinning.

Mark beamed and pulled him into a hug. “Thank you. That’s so weird to say, but...” He pulled back to look at him. “Thank you. I’m just--” He looked to the ceiling. “Thank you.”

Jack giggled. “I’m so glad we both ended up here,” he said. “In Disneyland, of all places. I’m glad we found each other.”

Mark nodded. “Me, too,” he said, then went in for another kiss.

Mark’s mother giggled from behind the door.

They paused, a centimeter away from kissing. Mark glared into the peephole with a sigh.

“Mom,” he said. He closed his eyes, laughing despite himself. “Mooom,” he whined. “Stop spying on us.”

With a huff, she opened the door. “How did you know I was looking?”

Mark pursed his lips and tried to frown to hold down laughter. “The door’s not soundproof; we could here you laugh.”

She huffed and folded her arms.

“You shouldn’t’ve been watching us,” Mark said.

“What?” she asked. “I like being first to know about these things.”

Mark sighed. “First to know if I kiss people?”

“You keep me out of the loop so much,” she said. “I want to know!”

“Well, Mom, I would’ve told you when I got in the room,” he said. He glanced at Jack, who was turning red from holding in laughter. “Please, just, give us a moment. Alone.”

“Okay, okay...” She turned to go back in the room.

“And no more spying!” Mark said as he pushed the door closed.

She just frowned and closed the door, leaving them alone again.

When they made eye contact, all they could do was laugh. They laughed and laughed until they were wheezing and wiping tears from their eyes.

“Oh, I love that woman,” Jack said when he could manage words. “I can see where you get your blatant wit from.”

Mark shook his head, letting out the last of his giggles. “She’s a riot, but it’s tough because she doesn’t even know she’s being funny. She just doesn’t. Either that or she’s ridiculously good at playing dumb.”

Jack chuckled. “It doesn’t matter. I love her.”

Mark nodded. “Me, too.”

Jack wrapped his arms around his waist, and Mark pulled them a couple doors down. “Just in case,” he said.

Jack hummed a laugh. “I just wanted to kiss you goodnight.”

Mark nodded. “Then what’s stopping you?”

Jack smiled and went to peck his lips, but Mark held onto it for a second longer.

He said, “Just in case I wake up tomorrow and this was a Disney-magic dream.”

Jack shook his head. “It’s all real. See?” He pinched his arm and Mark jumped away.

“Hey!” He rubbed a hand over his arm. “Fine, okay, I believe you. Jesus.”

Jack laughed. “Sorry.” He backed away, then pointed to Mark’s pocket. “Call me, okay?”

“Don’t know if I will after you _hurt_ me like that.” He grinned despite his words.

Jack laughed. “Oh, you will.” He gave him a final wave before turning and heading to the elevator.

Mark watched him walk away until he couldn’t see him anymore before returning to his hotel room. He found his mother sitting impatiently on the bed.

She looked over at the sound of the door. “How’d it go?”

Mark grinned and sat on the bed next to her. “Well, let’s just say he’s not ‘The One that Got Away’ anymore,” he said. “He’s the one that came back.”


End file.
